





^ "%. 



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THE LITEHAP.Y LIO^ 



THE 

LORGNETTE: 

OK. 

STUDIES OF THE TOWN. 

BY 
QUID LIBET, CUI LIBET, DE QUO LIBET. 

EIGHTH EDITION. 

SEI OFF WITH MR. DAELEY 5 S DESIGNS. 
/ >>1 ^* / « # J? 



Printed for CHARLES SCRIBNER, 

And for sale at 145 Nassau Street, and all respectable Book-shops. 
1852. 






Entekzd, according to Act of Congress, in the ye ir JS50. py 

STRINGER & TOWN SEND, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 

New- York. 



Ua 1 1908 

In exch. 
©, 0fO. Pub. Lib, 



PREFACE 



FOURTH EDITION. 

HE Publishers, and friends of 
the late Mr. John Timon, have 
requested me to act as his 
Executor ; and to say whatever 
can be decently said of the 
merits and failings of the poor gentleman, who 
has left behind Him oiily these two volumes 
of remains 




It is a task which I enter upon with 
mingled feelings — of respect for his virtues, 
and of tender pity for his weaknesses. A 
delicate recollection too of our intimate friend- 



IV PREFACE. 

ship comes over me, as I take the pen ; and 
as I recall his quiet humor, his gray, scattered 
locks, his rusty gaiters, his every-day kindness, 
and even his sardonic smile, — I find myself 
lost — almost to tears. 

Mr. Timon came into the town, scarce a 
year ago, almost a stranger; and it was my 
pleasure to be among the first to offer him 
that friendship, which, I am happy to say, 
was never abused, and of which I am proud 
to boast. Although a new-comer, and little 
versed in the ways of the world, he yet 
possessed a quiet and noiseless habit of obser- 
vation, that allowed nothing to escape it; 
and many are the belles who have brushed 
contemptuously past him, — and many are the 
foplings who have twisted their moustache in 
scorn for his presence, — who are now vege- 
tating together, on the debris of these — his 
literary remains. 



PREFACE. V 

He had but few friends; but to those few, 
he never, up to the latest hour of his stay 
among us, forgot his indebtedness ; he always 
remembered with a generous pride the help 
which he received from their counsel and 
their suggestions.* He was not a man to 
forget his friends ; and, — though it pains me 
to say it, — he was slow to forgive those who 
had purposely wronged him. 

Little was popularly known of his habits, or 
of his way of living. A remarkable degree of 
caution belonged to his character ; and only 
two or three of his more intimate acquaintances 
were intrusted with the secret of his literary 
work. Most people w T ould have taken him 
for a quiet, plodding tradesman, who saw little 
beyond the edge of his counter ; and who 



* In this connexion I shall take the liberty of designating the name 
of Mr. Wm. H. Huntington. 



VI PREFACE. 

read little, save the Almanac, the Advertiser, 
and his Bible. 

Even Mr. Kernot, his original publisher, — 
of whose suavity and discretion I have heard 
him speak in the highest terms, — little 
suspected that the quiet gentleman who 
sometimes sauntered into his book-shop of 
a summer afternoon, was the identical Mr. 
Timon, who had become his familiar and 
indefatigable correspondent. 

Many ladies, too, who cracked their jokes 
unmercifully at the rustic manners of my 
poor friend, had no suspicion that the dainty 
covered papers on their table were the work 
of so plain and so common-place an indi- 
vidual. 

Many a time I have heard him chuckle 
over his evening pipe, at the gay and careless 



PREFACE. Vll 

speeches of his critics, and at the boastful 
assurance which attributed his labors to some 
empty-pated youngster of the town. 

The greatest weakness of the old gentle- 
man's character was an intense dislike of' 
everything that savored of pretension ; and it 
was to combat this, in all its forms — as I have 
often heard him remark — that he undertook 
that series of papers which are now all that 
remain of his literary employments. 

He had a strong regard, too, for virtue and 
modesty, and had been educated in the dislike 
of whatever forbade or discouraged their 
growth. Far be it from me to say, — much as 
I revere his memory, — that he was himself 
all that he should have been in these 
respects. Alas ! our poor nature is very 
feeble; and the intimacy of even a life-long 



Vlll PREFACE. 



acquaintance cannot justify me in attempting 
to hide his defects. 



But with all his errors, John Timon bore no 
malice ; and — as I trust my own heart — I 
believe that he retired from the stage with a 
conscience unburdened by the recollection of 
having wilfully done any human creature an 
injury. If in the play of his words or the 
hurry of his thoughts, he forgot himself to 
severity, or to a sneer, it was only, I firmly 
believe, attributable to a certain flightiness of 
temper, which at times overcame his soberer 
judgment 

At vicious courses he was always ready to 
point his attacks; these may have been crude 
and ill considered, but they were at least heart- 
felt and earnest ; and never, to the very last, 
did he withdraw the harshest expressions of 



PREFACE. IX 

his hostility to vulgar pretence and extrava- 
gant follies. 

I could wish that my poor friend's efforts 
had been more successful than they have been, 
in abating the follies at which he aimed : I 
could wish that the power of his language and 
the vigor of his reason had been more equal to 
the fervor of his desire. But, I trust that 
the world, in true Christian spirit, will forgive 
his weakness, as I have cordially forgiven 
it myself. 

Be this as it may, however, — as his Execu- 
tor, and nearest surviving friend, I must defend 
his character; and should any persons be 
aggrieved by what he has done, or have any 
charges against his estate or opinions, I shall 
hold myself in readiness at any moment to 
give them the fullest answer. 

I am sure that if he had lived longer and 



X PEEFACE. 

been wiser, he would have claimed less of our 
pity, and more of our regard. But for the 
little that he has done, I hope that he may be 
well thought of; and I shall take a friend's 
privilege, in always thinking as well as I can 
of him, myself. 

IK: MARVEL. 




ZM» U JAriSatt'^v Z.O/fVM^ 



TO MY 



READERS 

HIS Preface is written for 
the Public ; and by virtue of 
it, and of the bookbinder's 
work in clapping together 
these letters, first written to 
a friend in the country, I make over the busi- 
ness of finding fault with them, or praising 
them, to the wise and talkative world. 




I have got very little to say here, which may 
not be found said in some shape or other, in 
the book itself; nor have I any flattery in 
hand for obstinate readers, to make them either 
lenient, or kindly disposed. Yet I have a 
tolerably good opinion of the public, and think 



Xll PREFACE. 



it, as the times go, wise, considerate, and cha- 
ritable; and so thinking, I have not felt it 
worth my while to hatch out any brood of 
lies, as is the custom with most new authors, 
about my modesty, and diffidence, and Heaven 
knows what. 

As for Apology, I have got none to make; — 
except to say that the matter was not made up 
out of spitefulness or malice toward any man 
or woman ; on the contrary, my feelings are 
tender toward the men in general, — and 
women specially. If anybody thinks other- 
wise, and feels worked up to such a pass, that 
he means to retort, I would particularly caution 
him, as I would the Theologic disputants, 
against striking, before he knows what he is 
going to hit. 

I cannot let the opportunity slip, without 
giving my thanks for the praises which have 
often greeted my ears; and to which, occa- 



PREFACE. Xlil 

sionally, a regard for my incognito, (to say 
nothing of truth) has compelled me to yield a 
reluctant assent. At other times, however, I 
have listened to abuse, especially from authors, 
which has made me bite my lip, and heartily 
wish myself in other company. 

Not a few of the Journals have damned me 
with a little faint praise, and expressed candid 
regrets that so much 'refinement' belonged to 
my papers. I would not for a moment impugn 
the judgment of these gentlemen, and only 
regret my inability to satisfy their taste. 

There is an old story of a school-boy, who 
sneered at a whip of nettles as a flimsy affair ; 
but who was observed to rub the afflicted part, 
for a long time afterward. There may be 
times when a cowhide is the proper medium 
of admonition ; but it always needs a braggart 
bully for the handling. God forbid that I, a 
stranger, and appearing as an actor on the 



XIV PREFACE. 

Literary stage only by courtesy, should inter- 
fere with the professional repute of such oer- 
formers. 

Finally, (for this Preface is getting longer 
than I meant it should,) I give up these twelve 
letters into the hands of my readers, with the 
greatest honesty imaginable ; and if they can- 
not think well of me, after they have got 
through them, I hope, at least, that they will 
not condemn too harshly, a work, which my 
love for them has prompted. 



JOHN TIMON. 



Dated from my Attic, 
July the 10th, MDCCCL 



CONTENTS. 



NUMBER ONE. 

Introductory — the Author's purpose — his topics — of books and 

tarts, . ..... 1 

Lodgings in town — New York landladies — extensive acquaint- 
ances — fellow-boarders — the fast man, 10 

NUMBER TWO 

A friend introduced— his large information — his classification of 

belles — his advice on the score of dress, . . .23 

The fashionable man — his birth and education— his sporting — 
his literary attainments — his musical taste — becomes com- 
mittee man — fails, and lives happily, . . . .28 

NUMBER THREE. 

A word of explanation, ...... 43 

Town Celebrities — foreigners— Hungarians — "Weehazy Polka — 
opera balls — extraordinary dancers — traveled ladies and 
gentlemen— their views of art, and Jno. Timon's views of them, 45 



XM CONTENTS. 



NUMBER FOUR. 

The author's regrets, and agreeable surprise, . 65 
Ways of getting into Society — scale of means — literature- 
taste — music, ....... 68 

Diary of a Fashion hunter — his experience and successes, . 64 

Letter from Mr. Green, ..... 83 



NUMBER FIVE. 

Suspected authors— the writer's ignorance very mortifying, ". 88 

Respectables — inquiry concerning respectable people — a re- 
spectable family — respectable lawyer — respectable doctor — 
respectable clergyman — respectable authors and respectable 
tea-parties, ...... 90 

Old Beaux — their appearance described — their haunts — their 

appetites, and accomplishments, . . . 101 

Letters from Dorothea and Lucia, offering sympathy and aid, 107 



NUMBER SIX. 

The Upper Ten Thousand — town poverty and town pence— Satan 

friendly to both — practical reflections, . . . Ill 

Lions — not confined to Welch's Circus — nursing of lions — strong 
diet afforded by certain papers — musical, literary, and critical 
lions — the literary lion represented, • 117 



NUMBER SEVEN. 

A sly chat with his publisher, and booksellers in general— hints for 

a literary monument to an eminent house — Latin inscription, 136 

The Opera — its establishment, history and uses— missionary 
character of opera companies— a sight of the opera goers- 
opera martyrs, .... 146 



CONTENTS. XV11 



NUMBER EIGHT. 



Opinions of the press, with delicate thanks to the Express news- 
paper, ........ 161 

People m Society— investigation as to who is in society — results 

of investigation — a short sketch of society, . . . 162 

Journal of a Lady in Society — extraordinary revelations — her 

coquetries, and color, . . . 173 

Letter from a lawyer— Mr. Browne, . . . 182 



NUMBER NINE. 

The author's critics — flattering portraits — one or two special hints, 189 
The Fashionable Lady— her tender age— has a,femme de chambre 
— her literary education — her coming out — her Summer cam- 
paigns — her opera education — her marriage, reign, death, and 
burial — a few thoughts suggested by the occasion, . .194 



NUMBER TEN. 

Letter from a lady — very touching— the author ventures apology 
— Gynocracy or woman-rule — ladies, great helps — poor demo- 
crats — de PEnclos a model — husbands snubbed — home a small 
affair, ........ 213 

Another letter — the writer honest and sensible— when her Papa 
got rich — what came of it— her travels, marriage, and — 
happiness, ....... 226 

The Bostonian — not easily mistaken — his eye-glass — his great 
knowledge — superiority in art and taste — his dignity — how it 
affects his religion — usually of an old family — a compliment, 
and a hope, ..... . 231 

NUMBER ELEVEN, 
rho author a sort of Burchell—his great modesty, . 239 



XV111 CONTENTS. 

Country Strangers — the Philadelphia!! — his great street vigor 
— his cultivation — his gentleness — the Washing tonian — the 
Westerner — the country lady, very showy, or very shy — her 
action and her praise, ...... 242 

Family and Ancestors — good parentage a good thing — the fact 
well known — European extravagances — heraldry — ancestry 
returned to New York — hunt up their children — great alarm 
— a serious end, • . . 255 

NUMBER TWELVE. 

Tacitus emended, and a chat with the critics — heroes engaged, 267 

Authors and Authorlings — the writer's vanity— town fevers — 
Glory and Shame outbreak — Napoleon run — Tupper fever — 
Jane Eyre, Typee, Lady Alice, and Kaloolah — Dunglison of 
letters — the Willis affection — the reputed authors — their 
claims discussed — their great merit admitted — more com- 
pliments promised in a yellow cartridge, . . 272 
A closing talk — John Timon out of debt — means to keep out — 
some material left — will not use it unless he chooses — advises 
the stupid of what he is * at' — a classic garland for a tail-piece, 292 



THE LOR&IETTE. 




JAN, 20. 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, I: 



Non liodie si 
Exclusus fuero, desistam ; tempora qua>ram ; 
Occurram in triviis ; deducam. — Hon. 1 Sat. ix. 58. 

You know, my dear Fritz, that I am not unused 
to the handling of a glass ; and that I have amused 
myself for a considerable number of years in look- 
ing about the world, as carelessly and freely as I 
chose. Now, it has occurred to me, in the open- 
ing of this new half-century, (may you live to the 
end of it !) that in common justice, I ought to 
make such return as lies in my power, by attempt- 
ing to amuse some little portion of that world, 
which has so long and gratuitously amused me. 

You stare hugely, to find your old friend be- 
come a man of type, and making his New- Year's 
1 * 



2 THE LORGNETTE. 

greetings in veritable print. But book-making, 
let me tell you, is now-a-days but a very small 
affair ; since every blue-stocking thinks it worth 
her while to spin out rhymes for the lady journals; 
and the old class of wholesome authors in shabby 
coats, and dirty linen, is almost supplanted by a 
great tribe of coxcomb writers, in opera gloves, 
and in velvet trimmings. 

I am aware that I am challenging, in this way, 
a degree of attention from the very enlightened 
public of the city, which possibly I may never get ; 
and that I wantonly assume a task, which the 
world, in its wisdom, may decide to be wholly be- 
yond my powers. But I console myself with the 
reflection, that in this affair of book-making, I 
have got no reputation to lose ; and indeed, were it 
otherwise, I should be much disposed to question 
whether, in this day of mushroom growth, it would 
not be more creditable to lose reputation, than to 
gain it. 

To fame, or to what passes for it now — to news- 
paper-mention, I am fortunately wholly unknown : 
Since the days of the old College catalogue, — with 
the exception, indeed, of some half dozen passenger 
rolls of Foreign Packets, — I do not remember ever 
to have seen my name in print ; nor shall I flatter 
my vanity by heralding it now. 



INTRODUCTORY. 3 

I shall lose thus, it is true, the sympathies of 
friends and acquaintances ; fcr I shall maintain 
an incognito as strictly in the circles where I am 
cordially received, as in the public talk. My 
papers, then, will have no support of friends, and 
no hireling praise : on the other hand, I shall have 
no enemies who can throw an old and cherished 
bitterness into their condemnation. And this last, 
I reckon no small point ; since the popular littera- 
teurs of the city, as I am told, are forever quarrel- 
ing, and barking at each other, like so many apes 
of Siam. Now, as the critical attaches to this 
amiable fraternity of town writers will have, in 
my case, no reputation to pull down, and no old 
grudge to satisfy, I have a hope of passing scot- 
free, — without so much as a single vagabond pen 
being wet to dampen my fire. But let me warn 
them, that if they choose to bark, they may bark 
till their lungs are sore, and they will draw out no 
newspaper card in reply, nor shall I suborn any of 
their fraternity to bolster me up. 

It would be very idle to pretend, my dear Fritz, 
that in printing my letters, I had not some hope of 
doing the public a trifling service. There are er- 
rors which need only to be mentioned, to be frown- 
ed upon ; and there are virtues, which an approv- 
ing word, even of a stranger, will encourage. 



4 THE LORGNETTE. 

Both of these objects belong to my plan ; yet my 
strictures shall not be personal, or invidious. It 
will be easy, surely, to carry with me the sympa- 
thies of all sensible people, in a little harmless 
ridicule of the foibles of the day, without citing 
personal instance ; and it will be vastly easier, in 
such Babylon as ours, to designate a virtue, with- 
out naming its possessor ! 

Still, you know me too well, to believe that I 
shall be frightened out of free, or even caustic re- 
mark, by any critique of the papers, or by any 
dignified frown of the literary coteries of the city. 

My publisher, indeed, has assured me, that with- 
out favorable mention from such and such news- 
papers, my work would all be idle, and my toil 
all be damned in advance. One of the journals, 
he told me, if carefully treated with, would make 
the merits of my plan known to the whole fashion- 
able world ; — nay, that a breath of praise from that 
quarter, would make my letters, fashionable let- 
ters. He cited two or three books, which by a 
single half-column of commendation, had been se- 
cured the run of the town ; and he assured me 
that not a few boarding-school misses were crazily 
in love with the authors bepraised by the journal in 
question ; and moreover, that its editor had secured 
eligible husbands to some half dozen despairing 



THE JOURNALS. 5 

literary spinsters, who had been honored with as- 
siduous, and determined complimentary notices, 
at his hands. 

Another journal, I was told, must be conciliated, 
or it would become rank assailant, both of my de- 
sign and of its execution ; though, by my publish- 
er's own confession, it seemed quite questionable, 
if its assaults would not work me more favor, even 
than the prettiest of its compliments. Another, 
whose literary budget was most astutely managed 
by a keen admirer of the late Mr. Charles Fourier, 
would carry news of me to all the hotel tables of 
the town ; and a flattering notice, if it could be se- 
cured, would make my papers particularly palata- 
ble to all who make a joke of society. A fourth, 
read at all tea-drinkings, and very safe for Sunday 
perusal, or for nervous invalids, would give me the 
stamp of propriety among good old ladies, and all 
respectable people : And yet another, by bare men- 
tion — if only the types did not get askew, — would 
make me matter of gossip with all such gadding, 
companionable housewives, as are forever on the 
look-out for terrible casualties, personal move- 
ments, and arrivals at the hotels. 

My publisher farther suggested a connection 
with some one of those literary coteries, which he 

tells me belong to the reading population of the 
1# 



6 THE LORGNETTE. 

town, and which would trumpet my design in a 
quiet way, at social gatherings — make my papers a 
standard tea-topic, and flatter even my short- 
comings. 

Some of these coteries, he told me, had stated 
meetings, at which all new literary matters were 
discussed over coffee and ices ; and that it needed 
only a rehearsal from the lips of some blooming 
litter ateure in bodice, and an approving word or 
two from some of the committee managers, to give 
to the work of a new writer the dignity of repu- 
tation. 

To the suggestion in regard to the newspapers, 
which touched my publisher in a tender point — his 
purse — I replied, by enclosing him a cheque, which 
would secure him against all possible loss. 

Of the coteries, I told him, I was wholly un- 
known ; and as it would come into my plan to 
speak very freely of all such cliques as assume the 
privilege of giving to the town its literary opinions, 
I begged to be excused from making any over- 
tures. Nor will I conceal the fact, that this decis- 
ion of mine was sustained by the conviction that 
all such overtures, coming from one in my humble 
condition in the literary world, would be treated 
with rank disdain. 

As for topic, it will vary with the week, and with 



MY TOPICS. 7 

my humor. Sometimes I shall fill my papers with 
portraits, or such social usages as prevail, and as 
seem to me deserving of remark ; and shall en- 
deavor to give you an idea of our town life, by call- 
ing up to your eye appearances of street and play- 
house. At other times, I shall hope to light your 
features into a smile, by sketching, in my careless 
way, the lounges and loges of the Opera, and per- 
haps an interior of City Salon — with this special and 
firm proviso, however — that in no instance the hos- 
pitality which may be accorded to me as a stran- 
ger, will be abused. You will understand, then, 
that when I speak of the receptions of such as 
Mistress Dolly Dragall — not that I have the honor 
of any such acquaintance, and am abusing a tender 
confidence, — but that I make her a type (if she 
really exist) of some particular usage, and hope 
honestly to do her honor, by extending the publicity 
of her charms, and to flatter her vanity by des- 
canting on the suavity of her address. 

Town coats, and costumes, and mantillas, will 
not be out of the range of my Lorgnette, and any 
innocent little extravagances of hat, or pelisse, or 
shoe-tie, will be touched for your amusement, as 
daintily as the prettiest flower wreaths in the 
hands of Miss Lawson's girls. 

I shall depict for you, from time to time, samples 



8 THE LORGNETTE. 

of the different social stages and fashionable gra- 
dations which meet my eye ; and shall try to satis- 
fy your country curiosity, by testing their ground- 
work. You must not be surprised, indeed, my 
dear Fritz, if within the range of my glass, should 
come up some old country acquaintances, whom 
we remember years ago in pretty rustic deshabille, 
and with strong nasal twang, — now riding in car- 
riages, emblazoned with such heraldry as does 
honor to the ingenuity of Collis and Lawrence ! # 
Delicate work, you will say ; but I know no reason 
in the world why fashionable pretensions, however 
noisy in their claims, or however successful in their 
empiricism, should be too high or too sacred for 
the curious and earnest gaze of a simple-minded 
looker-on, even though he avail himself of the 
slightly magnifying powers of a Lorgnette. 

As for literary opinions, and men, and books, 
they will drop into my papers at intervals ; not so 
much as topic for learned and critical remark, as 
by way of weather-cocks to show how the current 
of town opinions is drifting. Book-making has be- 
come so much a matter of trade, mere accommo- 
dation of supply to demand, that it seems to me 

* Eminent carriage manufacturers in New- York; who, if they are 
duly grateful for this allusion, will send one of their new Britskas to 
the editor of the Lorgnette. 



MY TOPICS. 9 

far more reasonable, on all principles of public 
economy, to rail at the readers of bad books rather 
than their writers. 

Religious and moral habitudes — their tendencies 
and exhibitions — will without doubt, occasionally 
sweep over the field of vision, and if they do not 
pass so quickly as to render the effort vain, they 
shall be reduced to some sort of classification. In- 
deed, I shall make very free to speak of the innu- 
merable bickerings and schisms, which, as I hear, 
belong to church life in town ; nor between doubt- 
ful Bishops, and pungent Lady Alice in breeches, 
will the topic be without its sources of amusement. 
And if a little good-natured raillery may have the 
effect of rendering ridiculous such absurdities as 
belong to town practices of worship, I shall feel as 
if engaged in an Apostolic labor ; and as if, with- 
out the laying on of hands, I were as good a ser- 
vant of the Mother Church, as the leanest of the 
Bishops, or the fattest of the Vestry-men. Nor 
shall the Barnburners, wire-pullers, office-seekers, 
journalists, and other political quidnuncs be passed 
by unceremoniously. I promise you, they shall 
have their sittings. I might even adopt for motto, 
if it had not been adopted ad nauseam, that line 
of Terence : — 

Nihil humani a me alienum puto. 



10 THE LORGNETTE. 

And I could translate it with more freedom than 
would have been tolerated on the university bench- 
es, — nothing touches humanity, but touches me. 

In short, my dear Fritz, this Lorgnette of mine 
will range very much as my whim directs. In 
morals, it will aim to be correct ; in religion, to be 
respectful ; in literature, modest ; in the arts, at- 
tentive ; in fashion, observing ; in society, free ; in 
narrative, to be honest; in advice, to be sound; in 
satire, to be hearty ; and in general character, 
•whatever may be the critical opinions of the small 
litterateurs, or the hints of fashionable patrons, to 
be only — itself. 

The Lorgnette will puff no books or tarts. If 
any venders of such wares send them to the pub- 
lisher, it must be at their own risk. If the tarts 
are good, they will be eaten ; if the books are good, 
they will be kept. Of the two, I may frankly say, 
the tarts would be preferred. 

LODGINGS IN TOWN. 
Sunt bona, sunt quscdam mediocria, sunt nialaplura. — Martial. 

You shall now see what matter I have made of 
it, in searching out my winter's lodgings. In Eu- 
rope, you know, it is of but little account where a 
stranger bachelor may live in a city. He is com- 
paratively so little known or inquired for, chez lui, 



LODGINGS IN TOWN. 11 

that he may inhabit garret or palace, as he fancies 
best. You will remember too, without doubt, our 
pretentious acquaintance of London, who, with a 
dusky chamber in Fleet street, received all his 
friends at a fashionable house of the new Palace 
Yard. His letters and cards being all addressed to 
the Hotel, and a small periodical fee to the head- 
waiter, secured not only their acceptance at his 
hands, but the post services of a little boy who ran, 
on the occasion of a call upon our acquaintance, 
from the hotel into Fleet street. 

In Paris, even this sham appearance is unneces- 
sary. Both you and myself have thought it no 
discredit to leave our address at the hotel of Ma- 
dame C , of the Place Yendome, dating from 

the eastern end of the dirty Rue Jacob. And you 
will recall with a smile, after so long a lapse of 
time, our raillery of a certain transatlantic friend, 
who thought it necessary to take brilliant apart- 
ments in the Ruo de Haute ville, and to order his 
dinners from the Cafe de Paris, and who was so as- 
tonished to find his salon accueil so wofully dis- 
proportionate to the tale of his weekly expenses ! 

In New- York, as I am told, the case is very dif- 
ferent ; and a man is not a little estimated by the 
street he lives in, or the house from which he hails. 
A.n officious, but good-natured friend, who was pos- 



12 THE LORGNETTE. 

sibly not aware that I possessed some previous ac- 
quaintance with the purlieus of the city, hinted 
to me that if I wished to take rank among what 
he called genteel people, I must take lodgings far 
up town. And another suggested, when I spoke of 
remaining at what seemed to me a very fair sort ot 
hotel, that it would never do ; that the hotel was 
not at all the thing, and that a miserable attic in a 
fashionable up-town house, which he took the lib- 
erty of recommending, would be much more to my 
credit and standing. He even hinted, that if I per- 
sisted in remaining in such quarters, for their size 
and comforts, I should take frequent evening 
walks in the direction he had named, and so make 
a mock of living, where fashionable men made their 
head- quarters. He further told me, byway of in- 
ducement, of one or two individuals, who with a 
bare pittance to keep soul and body together, had 
nevertheless, by dint of scrupulous economy and 
nice exactitude in such matters, succeeded in pass- 
ing a couple of seasons for men of wealth and ton, 
and had eventually carried off splendid fortunes in 
the doweries of retired mercers' daughters. 

Now, as you know, my dear fellow, that I am 
not wintering in town to make a name, either with 
fashionable people, or fashion hunters, and that 
my age would exculpate me from all intentions 



LODGINGS IN TOWN. 13 

upon retired mercers' daughters, I paid very little 
regard to any such suggestions. 

I have lived long enough to consult the ease and 
comforts of life far more than appearances ; and as 
I wished a quiet neighborhood, and one which should 
not be far removed from what would, in all proba- 
bility, be my usual haunts, to wit, the Exchange, 
the Society Library, and the Club in which I have 
become enrolled, I determined to set at naught all 
opinions of place, and to take such lodgings as 
suited my fancy. 

iVmong the advertisements which met my eye in 
the papers, not a few contained provisos to the 
intent, that references would be expected ; I there- 
fore supplied myself with a few of the cards of the 
mercantile houses to which I had been accredited, 
and which, at least, could substantiate my ability 
to pay for a year's lodging. 

It was a wet, gloomy day on which I made my 
first trial, and I had put on an old pea-jacket which 
had seen much ocean service, and a very shabby hat. 
The landlady I first addressed — a stout buxom old 
lady in black and crimson calico, looked rather 
suspiciously at my coat, but prayed me to be seat- 
ed, — remarked upon the weather, and from the 
weather ran on with a very glib tongue to the gaie- 
ties of the town. She begged to know if I had the 
2 



14 THE LORGNETTE. 

acquaintance of Messrs. So and So, who had some 
time been lodgers in her house ; hinted that per- 
haps I might know another gentleman who was in 
excellent society, a man of large fortune, and who 
visited Messrs. So and So ; but finding me incorrigible 
on these points, and only anxious to secure a quiet, 
comfortable room, she restrained somewhat the 
glibness of her speech. Her rooms proved not at 
all to my taste. 

Having bade her good morning, which she met 
with a very condescending sweep of her black and 
crimson calico, I found myself next in a dingy 
parlor, hung with faded damask curtains. A 
slattern girl, in very showy merino, who w^as 
thrumming at a piano sadly out of tune, met my 
entrance with a very low and supercilious bow, and 
continued her employment, which, so far as I could 
judge, was a succession of efforts to catch some of 
the worst, though most striking passages of Don 
Pasquale. 

The landlady presently came in, trimmed off 
with a tremendous flounce, and curtseying and 
bowing together, in a way that might have taken a 
man of livelier temperament off his legs. I present- 
ed one of the cards of the commercial house, and 
begged to know if, under such recommendation, 
she would allow me the favor of looking at her rooms. 



LANDLADIES. 15 

She assured me that she would be most happy ; 
at the same time eyeing my coat and hat with that 
look of thorough curiosity, which I find belongs to 
lodging-house keepers in all parts of the world. 

She informed me that the neighborhood was 
highly respectable, and that her lodgers were, 
many of them, connected with some of the first 
families of the town ; and thereupon she commen- 
ced enumerating to me a galaxy of names, which she 
did with an air that she seemed to think would 
utterly confound and embarrass a man in such 
damaged pea-jacket as I happened to be wearing. 
I maintained, however, sufficient composure to bow 
very graciously at the announcement of each name, 
and to tell her plainly at the end, that I knew 
nothing of them. 

She was evidently thwarted, but determined to 
try me next by her scale of prices. She ushered 
me into a dim, shabbily furnished upper parlor, 
which she assured me was a charming apartment, 
and had been occupied by a gentleman of high dis- 
tinction in the town circles. She directed my es- 
pecial attention to the fine heavy old furniture^ 
which, to be sure, was heavy and old enough ; but 
not finding me to join in her ecstasies, she asked if 
I had been long in the city ? 

On hearing that I had but recently returned from 



16 THE LORGNETTE. 

a long residence in the country, she launched out 
into praises of town life : — had no doubt that I 
would find it delightful ; and, glancing at the card, 
thought it would be easy to secure an introduction 
— indeed, she said she had frequent sawraze at her 
own house, at which a Mrs. Somebody was a fre- 
quent attendant ; and she would, if I took her 
rooms, interest herself as much as possible in my 
behalf. She hoped I loved music ; her daughter 
Fanny, she said, was "a (immature" — possibly I 
might have remarked her execution in the parlor. 

The truth was, Fanny's execution was even now 
painfully distinct, and utterly dissipated any 
thought I might have entertained of engaging 
rooms in so close proximity with the parlor instru- 
ment. 

My next negotiation was with a little, thin, 
weazen-faced French lady, of a certain age, who 
was most earnest, notwithstanding my pea-jacket, 
with the praise of her fort jolies chambers. She 
smiled at my card of reference ; plumed herself on 
being able to detect at a glance a lodger " comma 
il fatit;" — complimented my French, and showed 
me such dirty apartments that I was fain to pay 
her back in her own coin, and ended with re- 
gretting that her charming rooms should be all so 
nigh, or so low, as to prevent my becoming a 



LANDLADIES. 17 

lodger with so gracious and interesting a young 
lady. "We parted, of course, capital friends. 

My next adventure was with a very prim and 
demure-faced little lady in black, occupying a 
small house, which she told me had been the prop- 
erty of her poor husband, who was now dead (and 
she sighed), and who had been well known on 
'Change, where, if I chose, I could make inquiries 
which would satisfy me as to respectability. She 
showed me a quiet, neat-looking room, upon the 
second floor, looking out upon a small court, gar- 
nished with low roofs and brick wails, and a single 
sickly-looking espalier peach-tree. The furniture 
was simple, but substantial ; a pleasant, " tasteful" 
gentleman, with his wife, she told me, occupied 
the front-room, — a very respectable old man was 
above, and her nieces, from the country, occupied 
the remaining attic. 

I thought it would be a quiet place for my work, 
where I should be out of the reach and knowledge 
of prying eyes; and where, my dear Fritz, I could 
quietly entertain you, on your visits to the city ; — so 
I closed with her terms, and am now writing from 
a little white table which stands before the grate. 

The "tasteful" gentleman proves to be a dash- 
ing buck, who wears very broad plaid to his panta- 
loons ; he has over-reached himself in marriage, 
2* 



18 THE LORGNETTE. 

and is now paying the forfeit in these quiet cham 
bers, and only gratifying the old exuberance of his 
nature by an occasional Sunday dash, in buggy and 
pair, upon the Third Avenue. His wife, of whom 
I only occasionally catch sight, sports now and 
then a superb satin cloak at the Opera or Grace 
Church, after which she lies by for a week's recruit. 
A. thick partition is between our rooms, so that only 
a confused murmur of their altercations reaches 
my ear. Once, when the hall doors were open, I 
caught a few words very sharply uttered, such as, 
"satin cloaks," " avenue rides," " livery bills," 
"Stewart's," "my money," "breaking heart," 
" such a wife," ending, so far as I could judge, in 
the conquest and humiliation of my "tasteful" 
neighbor. 

The old gentleman above stairs goes to bed regu- 
larly at nine, before which he reads in a loud, 
nasal tone, a passage from the Psalms. He is a 
quiet, good-hearted old gentleman, who has seen 
the city growth, he tells me, for fifty years past. 
He never went out of town further than Newark, 
where he has a brother residing ; yet he sometimes 
gives me very wholesome advice, and often much 
valuable information about old families and locali- 
ties of the town. He takes maccoboy snuff out ol 
a box ornamented with the head of Washington, 



LODGINGS IN TO" VN. 19 

and turns up his nose at what he calls the "fippy. 
foppery" of the day. I find that, on many points, 
we are capitally agreed ; and though he shakes his 
head at the French poets which are in my library- 
case, he approves highly my good sense in cherish- 
ing an old family copy of Scott's Bible. 

The nieces are tidy, prim girls, who are com- 
pleting their education, by reading French phrase 
books, Paradise Lost, a pamphlet on Etiquette, and 
Tupper's Proverbial Philosophy, which they declare 
to be "sweet." They express, as sensible girls 
should, who know little or nothing of the matter, a 
great contempt for the Opera, and most of the fash- 
ionable amusements. Yet I observe, that they 
are always very earnest in their inquiries as to 
how the house was made up, and about the dresses 
of the ladies ; and if they can draw me into a little 
town gossip about the somewhat notorious occu- 
pants of particular boxes, they seem delighted with 
their success. And I once knew them to walk 
the whole length of the street, in the hope of see- 
ing the Opera troupe, as it came out from rehearsal. 
They are devoted readers of the Lady's Book, and 
Mother's Magazine, though very anxious to get an 
occasional look at the Home Journal, which the 
tasteful gentleman sometimes purchases ; though 



20 THE LORGiMETTE. 

the aunt and the old gray-haired lodger persist in 
condemning it as silly, gossiping trash. 

They occasionally walk Broadway in their best 
hats, to admire the cloaks and mantillas, and yet 
will talk very earnestly in condemnation of the 
foolish extravagance of town-ladies. Though they 
make bold to decry the rules of fashion, and to 
inveigh against the pursuit of particular, foolish 
fancies, I find them very ready to suggest to me 
my short-comings in matters of town etiquette, and 
they have latterly hinted at some changes of dress, 
which they are kind enough to say would quite set 
me up on Broadway, and give me a creditable 
position at the concerts. My age enables me to 
bear this very composedly ; and further, to crack 
occasional jokes with them about matrimony, 
and affairs of gallantry, at which they blush, and 
affect to be very angry — but are very sure to par- 
don me, after an incredibly short probation. 

Upon the whole, they are quiet, well-disposed 
girls, who would not make it a material objection 
to a lover, that he was an Opera-goer, or a little 
of a Roue : withal, they are small talkers, and do 
not play the piano. 

As you will readily believe, my life passes in 
such lodgings in the most quiet way imaginable ; 



LODGINGS IN TOWN. 21 

and between the old-fasliioned talk of the gray- 
haired lodger, and the dashing conversation of the 
tasteful gentleman, added to the every-day obser- 
vations of the demure nieces, I am forming very 
rapidly a pretty set of conclusions about the class- 
es to which they respectively belong. 

But these are by no means all the acquaintances 
of whose observations I can avail myself ; and I 
shall introduce you, from time to time, to others of 
wholly different mettle. I shall only excite your 
curiosity now, by saying that one is a play-actor, 
— another, a sexton of a fashionable church, — a 
third is an officer high in the annals of the police, 
—a fourth is a keen lawyer, one of whose eyes is 
worth most men's two, — a fifth is a kind and 
gossiping old lady, who knows half the scandal of 
the town, with whom I am frequently treated to 
a drive along the Bloomingdale road, much to the 
astonishment of the girl lodgers, and of the taste- 
ful gentleman. Still another is a prim clergy- 
man, who, though he is not an Opera-goer, has yet 
a good ear for a fiddle, and a very delicate eye for 
mantillas or shoe-ties. 

If the mails are true, you will smoke your Tues- 
day's cigar over this paper ; and if you are the 
friend I take you for, you will look each successive 



22 THE LORGNETTE. 

week, with no little curiosity, for the continuance 
of my observations upon Life in Town. 

Though the Lorgnette is set at the head of my 
page, you need not suppose that I shall forbear 
taking an occasional squint, with my naked eye, 
either above or below ; and though I shall sign this 
Timon, you must not think, my dear Fritz, that I 
have entered any Trophonian Cave, or that I can- 
not, when the humor takes me, play the Merry 
Andrew, with the gayest of the Town wits. 

Tjmon. 




JAN. 80, 



NEW-YORK. 



NO. 2. 



Ce sont partout des sujets de satire, 

Et comme spectateur, ne puis-je pas en rire 1 

ECOLE DES FEMMES. 



Another week lias gone by, my dear Fritz, in 
which the town has been full of its Carnival festivi- 
ties. Cheeks that were rosy in the opening of the 
winter, are losing, I see, a little of their vermilion ; 
and the heavy velvet visites, in this spring-like sea- 
son, are worn with a languid air. 

I little thought, in penning my last, that its reve- 
lations would betray me ; you can judge then of 
my surprise in being accosted, only two days after 
its appearance, with the brusque salutation, " Allons 
done, mon cher Timon!" 

It seems that my portraits of the tasteful gentle- 
3 



24 THE LORGNETTE. 

man and the girls, had been recognized by an ac- 
quaintance who sometimes passes an evening at my 
chambers, over a quiet cigar and a brandy toddy. 
I have cautioned him, however, against any revela- 
tions, and shall now feel myself at liberty to avail 
myself of his suggestions. He is more of a cynic 
than myself; and indeed, he is so harsh at times, 
that I shall feel bound to temper his youthful ex- 
travagances, by the coolness and sobriety of my 
superior years. 

This acquaintance, whom I shall call at his own 
suggestion, Tophanes, being an abbreviation of the 
old Greek Aristophanes, is a shrewd observer of 
some eight-and-twenty, well made, of cheerful tem- 
perament, city -bred, and has been these four or five 
years living on the town — by which I mean, that 
with no ostensible employment, he has yet various 
occupations, and the best of all professions, for a 
town-liver — that of passing time agreeably. 

He may be frequently seen in an arm-chair, at 
the head of one of the tables in the reading-room of 
the Society Library ; but I have observed, that while 
seeming to read, his eye is running over the groups 
that come every morning to devour the newspapers, 
and he is summing up in his own mind an estimate 
of the various characters which make up the com- 
pany. He follows the same habit in the street, and 



CLASSIFICATION OF BELLES. 25 

will watch passers-by, with the careless way of the 
world, while not an action, or movement w T ill escape 
his observation. He can tell the daintiness of every 
lady's waist that he passes, and can furnish a cri- 
tique upon every bonnet and its trimmings. He 
knows the name of every belle, and how long she 
has been upon the town ; he has always at hand a 
description of the peculiar charms of each, whether 
they lie in figure, in step, in eye, in color, or in 
money. He can tell to a nicety, by a glance at 
any one of our ball-room beauties, whether she be 
fanee, blasee, or passee; he has even, in his time, 
kept a little note-book, in which he has entered the 
names of the prominent belles of the day, arranged 
under various headings, such as — 

First Class Belles, 
Watering-place Belles, 
Second-rate Belles, 
New Brighton Belles, 
Traveled Belles, 
Belles Accessible, 
Doubtful Belles, 
Stout Belles, and 
Eccentric Belles. 

Against these, m the true spirit of the Baconian 



26 THE LORGNETTE. 

philosophy, he has entered sundry figures and cal- 
culations, — made estimates in a column at the side of 
the page, and occasionally enlivened the inventory 
with pleasant descriptive paragraphs, and has even 
given at length the distinguishing characteristics of 
each species of belle. You will surely agree with 
me that he is an auxiliary worth having ; and when 
I get upon the topic, I shall very likely make free 
use of his observations. 

His advice to me was most characteristic ; nor 
do I reckon it without value. 

"My dear fellow," said he, taking up the yellow 
pamphlet in his hand, "you are too dainty; you 
are shy of the mark ; you are staving off the very 
matter which you ought to souse into at once. Set 
yourself at work upon the elements of our town- 
society ; unravel them, test them, paint them. 
Dip into this strange Opera-going business, and the 
puerilities of the coxcomb life. Dish up the Polka 
for a dinner, and give us bon-bons for dessert. As 
for the church, the books, and the politicians, they 
will all come in good time. 

" Do you think," said he, turning upon me sud- 
denly, " that you could cultivate a moustache ?" 

" And w r hy ?" said I, stroking my lip and chin. 

" Simply because it might be worth a thousand 
a-year to you, saying nothing of a reversion." 



A FRIEND'S ADVICE. 27 

This was a new idea to me, Fritz ; you know 
that in my day, I have worn hair enough upon my 
face to hide my blushes, even beside the Governor 
of Comorn, or the prettiest artist of the town. But 
all this I set down to youthful exuberance, and the 
careless habit of travel ; I thought it a duty to my 
Christian brotherhood, to wear now, in the calm 
and quiet of life, at least a Christian physiognomy. 
Tophanes explained the matter to me, thus : 

" My dear fellow," said he, assuming the air of 
a patron, u you must see a little more of town life 
than will come under your eye in these retired 
quarters ; your name is not particularly tonnish, 
though it has fortunately a slight foreign air (my 
great-grandfather, from whom I inherited it, was 
a Fleming); you don't keep a ' drag' or a i mi- 
lord ;' your seat at the Opera is an humble one ; 
you are not even boarder at the New-York Hotel ; 

you have not the entree at Madame , (naming 

a leader of the exquisite ton) ; you are a little 
passe ; you have nothing particularly distingue in 
your air ; your dress is country made ; you have 
not, that I know of, been guilty of any little pretty 
pardonable crimes against society ; you have not 
fought a duel, except a sham one, with broad-swords, 
behind the old ruin at Heidelberg ; you can't very 
well, at your time of life, get credit for a liason 
3* 



28 THE LORGNETTE. 

with one of the Opera troupe, — so, my dear fellow, 
there is no hope for you, but — a moustache !" 

I saw at once the justice of his observations, and 
determined to consider the matter. I wished, how- 
ever, first to look about me, and see what manner of 
men were wearing these very essential appendages, 
and when my observation shall be complete, — of 
which, my dear Fritz, you shall have a full report, 
— I will tell you plainly what decision the circum- 
stances force upon me. Meantime, with the aid of 
my friend Tophanes (with whom we will smoke a 
pipe together on your first visit), I give you this 
little sketch of the city growth of a fashionable 
man. 



THE FASHIONABLE MAN 
Homunculus . — Passim. 

You know him first at an age varying from fifteen 
to twenty, by his very prim, square shirt collar, — by 
a speckled Joinville tie, a very large-bottomed pan- 
talon, a boot that must pinch him execrably, and a 
hat set the slightest possible bit on one side of his 
head. He usually walks Broadway, at this stage 
of incipiency, arm-in-arm with a companion, for 
he has seen cuts of this mode of procedure, in the 
high-life illustrations to Dickens' works; and ho 



THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 29 

may sometimes be seen swaggering with a very 
bold air, and very flat cigar, out of such cornel 
oyster shops as those of Florence, or Sherwood. At 
this age, too, he talks in a very glib style of the la- 
dies, — their dress and tournure ; — he mentions 
very familiarly by their first names, certain dash- 
ing specimens who ride in hackney cabs, and who 
walk always unattended ; and he affects punches, 
made very strong. He boldly tips the wink to the 
bar-maid, at such genteel places as the Madison 
House — sips, and pulls up his shirt collars with a 
jaunty air, and sometimes will sit down to a quiet 
rubber of whist, in the back parlor. 

His mamma, who wishesto restrain his outof door 
indulgences, by breeding in him a love for polished 
society, invites ladies of undoubted respectability 
to her house, and our young master of the Join- 
ville tie commences early practice of the gallant- 
ries of the drawing-room. His dancing education 
is not neglected, and he soon gets a name with the 
visiting ladies, for a very pleasant handling of their 
forms in the Redowa. He cultivates assiduously 
some elder acquaintance at the New- York Club, so 
that his card and address come to be familiarly 
known to the purveyor of the establishment, and 
will get by merest accident upon such lady's lists, 
as are made up from the club roll. 



30 THE LORGNETTE. 

Our nero patronizes (that is his word) a fashion- 
able tailor, and sets off a coat, by dint of slight 
wadding, capitally well. His etiquette in the 
dressing-room at the balls, is highly careless ; and 
he draws on his gloves, and adjusts his hair after 
the last patterns of established town gentlemen. If 
no prominent fashionable scion be found in tho 
dressing-room, he assumes quite an air, and talks 
in very gay humor, and with dashing familiarity 
of the ladies below ; but if he espies an old Nestor 
of the balls, he shrinks into comparative quietude, 
and carefully observes the action and deportment of 
his senior. 

His dancing is easy and piquant, and he finds 
without difficulty dashing lady partners, w r ho grown 
a little anxious on the score of their own age, are 
very willing to commute the stock of years, by 
balancing the Polka with a boy. 

His talk is necessarily somewhat juvenile ; but 
he has a carefully prepared round of critiques on 
Bertucca and Forti, picked up at the clubs ; and 
on weather topics, he manifests an insouciance and 
freedom, that show him to be a perfect master of 
the subject. He sometimes even ventures upon 
the fine arts, and has cultivated certain ecstasies of 
expression about the Greek Slave, and such like 
measures of the town taste, which would be worthy of 



THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 81 

an established belle, or the columns of the Sundav 
Mercury. 

Oldish men, and such ladies as have rather an 
unfortunate reputation for good sense, set off with 
a spice of satire, he is careful to avoid ; he sneers 
at their ill-nature, only because their irony is too 
strong for his brain. 

With his fellows, perhaps he will affect a sport- 
ing turn ; he will read, very assiduously the Spirit 
of the Times, — he will have a shooting jacket made 
with a world of pockets, and will sometimes take 
it with him, on a trip to a summer watering-place; 
but only wears it occasionally of a morning, whenhe 
is sure no sportsmen are by ; he will stufFa pocket with 
pressed Regalias, and regret that game is so scarce. 
He talks in very knowing tones of quail and par- 
tridge, of Greener guns and Frank Forrester, 
and is supplied with all the sporting on dits. He 
discourses too about trout-fishing, and Alfred's 
tackle, very much as one of the falsettos in the 
Papal choir, might talk of deeds of gallantry. 

In time, he may come to have a small purplish 
gathering of hair upon the upper lip, and he con- 
sults Cristadoro on the prospects of a full-fledged 
moustache. Meantime he is rapidly pushing his 
ventures in the fashionable world ; he may even 
boast of a speaking acquaintance with some one of 



32 THE LORGNETTE. 

the Opera troupe of ladies, which he mentions tc 
his friends with a sly leer, as if something were in 
the wind. 

He discards, as he gets on, his Joinville tie ; he 
observes closely the air of foreign gentlemen at 
the New- York Hotel, and will presently appear in 
a stout, heavy " coachman," with huge pearl but- 
tons. He is apt, at this stage, to invite some French 
gentleman who is living on the town, to a dinner 
at Delmonico's; and if he can push this venture 
into a decided familiarity with the foreign repre- 
sentative of manners, he feels himself a made 
man. 

If a literary fancy seizes him, he will cultivate 
the acquaintance of the musical critics of the news- 
papers; he accosts them familiarly (when no ladies are 
in sight) in the corridors of the Opera-house, and will 
perhaps contribute a letter to the Sunday Herald, or a 
rejected sonnet to the Evening Mirror. His read- 
ing will be variously the Home Journal, the Dis- 
patch, and "all sorts of paragraphs" of the Even- 
ing Post ; and when he feels braced for really se- 
rious work, he will perhaps undertake " a card" in 
the Courier and Enquirer, a review in the Literary 
World, a poem in the Tribune, or a chapter in 
" James 5 last Novel." 

Provided with such stock of literary matter as 



THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 33 

this general reading furnishes, he quite astounds 
the young ladies, who, though very good dancers, 
do not pretend to be deep ; and who smile the pret- 
tiest coquetry back, at all his literary disquisitions, 
disclaiming earnestly the name of blues. He will, 
however, be rewarded by the very warm looks of 
book-loving spinsters, and perhaps be invited to a 
conversazione, where if he have a good tongue, and 
a few tricks of the players, he may establish a ten- 
der reputation by a triumphant reading of Romeo 
and Juliet. 

As he grows older, he discards such follies as un- 
worthy the dignity of a man of ton, and as entire- 
ly useless in the art of salon conquest. If his means 
will allow the venture, he will perhaps occasionally 
drive a showy horse, in very dainty harness, along 
the Bloomingdale road. At the Opera, he will be 
provided with a very huge Lorgnette of ebony, or 
imitation, and will direct it with the coolest com- 
posure into a lady's face of the next box ; and he 
will never forget to break out into a rapturous bra- 
vo, when a tall critic in the parquette, or Madame 
— — gives the concerted signal for applause. And 
if one of the troupe appears in unreasonably short 
petticoats, he is sure to level his glass at her, with 
a most obstinate gaze, and crack some very touching 
jokes, which make the lady he is with, blush te 



34 THE LORGNETTE 

her eyes — unless indeed, she is lately returned from 
" abroad," and is gazing as earnestly as he, 
sighing at the prurient modesty of American wo- 
men. In this last case indeed, she will have the 
advantage of him in audacity, and will talk as 
coolly of the shape of Signora's legs, as if it were 
the daintiest imaginable topic for a quiet break- 
fast chat. 

And our hero gains from such encouragement, 
at the hands of one who has formed her taste for 
morals, and her moral of taste, at Paris, a new step 
in his life of fashion ; and at his next soiree, he 
will repeat the ladies compliments of Signora, un- 
til his dancing partner blushes again. He is now 
arrived at a ripe stage ; and if Mesdames So-and-so 
do not invite him to their balls, it is because they 
do not know that a most agreeable talent for ready 
and piquant conversation, has been added to his 
graceful accomplishment in the waltz. He now 
assumes patronizing airs toward the younger mem- 
bers of his class, and condescendingly offers to pre- 
sent them at the reception of his lady friends. 

A little of the reputation of the roue, will at this 
stage add an agreeable spice to his character ; and 
an intrigue, coyly hinted at, with some married 
lady, and offering topic for luxurious chit-chat in 
fashionable boudoirs, will be very sure to give him 



THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 35 

the entree to the houses of such " leaders of the ton " 
as have hitherto smiled contemptuously at his 
pretensions. Old ladies of fashion, grown fat on 
drawing-room applause, and luxurious riding, will 
taste with as mush relish as a dish of game, grown 
rank, the luscious flattery dropping from the lips of 
a man who has so successfully won his honors. 

Now he may count securely on being made man- 
ager of watering-place balls, and will be beset by 
mothers of doubtful position, to take pity on their 
daughters. He is looked up to by all barbers and 
head-waiters, as a man of immense consideration; 
and he will walk Broadway wdth the air of one who 
feels that little remains to be learned, and that his 
character is beyond criticism. He is a club-man; 
and if his cards are well played, and a lofty ambi- 
tion spurs him on, he may have the honor of figur- 
ing in the newspapers as one of a committee to give 
a public dinner, or to aid in a city reception, or to 
do honor to a distinguished ballet-dancer. 

Higher than this, it is hardly possible for the man 
of fashion to go. He is now become the Achilles of 
the street, and the Apollo of the boudoir. If his 
funds diminish, or his coiffeur hints at need of a 
hair dye, he turns his thoughts to marriage ; and 
presently all the ladies of a certain age are be- 
witched to secure him. Not because he has for* 
4 



36 THE LORGNETTE. 

tune, or much mental calibre, or because he is a man 
to turn the world upside down, or to make a figure 
on the Exchange, or in the courts, or because pos- 
sessed of any really intrinsic grace of character, — 
but then he is such a charming man, — so very 
agreeable. — such a funny man, — so elegant, — with 
such handsome eyes, — or such a moustache, — and 
then he polks so prettily, — in short, he is such a 
dear love of a man ! 

And as for the stories about him and Madame 
So-and-So, there can surely be nothing in them ; he 
is so audible in his responses at Grace Church, and 

such a friend of Doctor ; it must be all envy ; 

but perhaps Madame So-and-So courted him ; and 
then he is so kind ; and even if he did, how peni- 
tent he must be ; and what a delightful thing to 
win him back to the paths of virtue ! And the fair 
apologist, very strong in her love of mercy and 
purity, and shedding religious tears of hope, throws 
herself back upon her luxurious lounge, and gets a 
new lesson of Christian charity and morals, out of 
that dear Catholic story of the Lady Alice . 

But the Papa has perhaps in this arrangement, a 
keener eye to prudence, than to piety. He is very 
earnest in his inquiries about stocks, and expecta- 
tions ; and is anxious to know of what timber the 
fashionable man may be built. A moustache, 



THE FASHIONABLE MAX. 37 

though a very good recommendation to my lady's 
boudoir, or balls, is not, he shrewdly thinks, so tak- 
ing on exchange ; nor is it altogether the readiest 
passport to the confidence and inveiglement of such 
clients as manifest a decided wish that their busi- 
ness should have attention. White kids appear 
very prettily in the handling of a Lorgnette, but 
they must be cast to manage the execution of a 
deed, or to draft a bill of exchange. The pretty 
babble about the Dusseldorf, or the tenor of Forti, 
may do very well to win a weak lady, but it will 
not have very great weight with a jury. Our man 
of fashion has then one position up-town, and quite 
another in "Wall street : among the women, he 
passes for a man ; and among the men, he passes 
for a woman. 

If in this emergency of his life, his funds abso- 
lutely fail, he may possibly find friends, who for 
the credit of the family, will subscribe for him an 
annuity, payable until he shall secure an heiress. 
He is now obliged to cut his old acquaintances of 
the Opera troupe, and hushes up his reputation for 
intrigue, except so much as shall find its way by 
friendly lips, to the ears of his victim. For in this 
quarter, no acquaintance can do him worse service, 
than by sneering at his past gallantries, as sheer 
affectations ; and he may safely say with the lover, 



38 THE LORGNETTE. 

in the French Comedy : Je ne demandais pas d 
etre mauvais sujet ; mats, maintenant que c'est 
reconnu et etabli, il ne faut rien dire ! Car en 
m^otant mes torts, on m'dterais tous mes avantages 

However, he is regular at church, and affects 
thoughtfulness, for he is put perhaps, by some 
form-loving mamma, upon probation. 

What a changed man ! — whispers the delighted 
Fredonia ; and presently, from a rake, our fashion- 
able man has become a husband. He has married 
a plump five thousand a-year, a delicate complex- 
ion, a great deal of whalebone and bustle, a smat- 
tering of French talk, whole reams of poetic senti- 
ment, and an incalculable quantity of new novels. 

He can now take a box at the Opera, and ride to 
Grace Chuich; he can wink at the sexton, shake 
hands with the parson, and utter his responses as 
audibly as he chooses. He cuts his poor acquaint- 
ances of the club, and doesn't let his country cou- 
sins know his town address. He drops pennies 
into the parish box, wrapped In dingy brown paper, 
which resembles old bank bills, and passes with 
pious, middle-aged ladies, for a worthy and charita- 
ble Christian. He gives parties, but he does not 
pay his grocer's bill. 

His wife has expectations, and he takes her rheu- 
matic uncle out to ride, and presses upon him his? 







THE FASHIONABLE MAN 



THE FASHIONABLE MAN. 39 

poor cigars, and is very urgent that he should come 
to dine with him, when he knows him to be laid up 
with an attack of the gout. He sends bouquets, 
and valentines, anonymously, but in his own hand- 
writing, to his wife's rich aunt. He employs a 
fashionable physician, and doesn't venture into "Wall 
street. He goes to play billiards at the club, and 
tells his wife he has business with his lawyer. He 
goes to parties, and waltzes with the youngest girls 
in the room. He figures on committees for public 
balls, and wears white rosette ; he consults his 
wife's complexion in the purchase of dress, and dra- 
pery, and has long and serious interviews with his 
tailor. He subscribes to a morning and evening 
paper, and to the Home Journal ; and he has his 
arms cut upon a signet ring. He reads general 
news in do Trobriand's Revue, and the religious 
news, in the directions for church service, of the 
prayer-book. 

He talks with his clergyman about church archi- 
tecture, — with his lawyer about marriage settle- 
ments, — with his wife about the last party, and 
with his lady friends about velvet cloaks, and the 
new third fiddler of the orchestra. 

At this stage, he may be reckoned firmly and 
fairly a leader of the ton ; and he has only to show 
himself liberal, to have his name heralded, or his 



40 THE LORGNETTE. 

likeness cut for the Sunday Mercury ; and ver^ 
especial services may secure to him the honor of a 
statuette in the shop windows of the town. 

His moneyed character is of course understood 
to be beyond impeachment ; or if some unfortu- 
nate developments of an irksomely keen morning 
paper, should make his name and note discredited 
on 'Change, he has only to appear in a dignified, 
exculpatory card, drafted by his lawyer, — to with- 
draw his funds at the bank, — make over the result 
of a few private transactions to his wife, — contract 
a few debts of honor, from such friends as will not 
bother him for pay, and live upon his wife's char- 
ity, — another gorgeous, and dinner-loving martyr 
to town speculation, and to bitter tongues. 

This, as I am assured by my friend Tophanes, is 
a fair representation of the usual growth ; but the 
exceptions are very various, and the grades of fash- 
ionable men are very numerous. There are, for 
instance, — the fashionable beaux, the fashionable 
street-men, the fashionable authors, the fashionable 
roues, the fashionable merchants, the fashionable 
respectables, the fashionable defaulters, the fash- 
ionable grocers, and the fashionable doctors. And 
when I come to detail their characteristics at 
length, they will, I am sure, my dear Fritz, amuse 
you wonderfully. 



SERVICES TENDERED. 41 

I shall not venture to give you thus early any 
sketch of the fashionable development in the wo- 
men; for since it is a more delicate matter, I 
must make my observation a little finer, and have 
a few more quiet talks with my old lady friend, 
who as I told you, sometimes indulges me with a 
ride in her britska. And I may further say, that 
any advices in regard to this topic, from genteel 
young women, of good taste and connections, will 
be very gladly received. My friend Tophanes, who 
is an up-town liver, has kindly volunteered to take 
charge of any such communications as may be left 
for John Ttmon, at the counter of Henry Kernot, 
bookseller. He has, moreover, tendered his ser- 
vices to make personal calls, between the hours of 
twelve and three, upon such ladies as have any- 
thing of a special nature to communicate. (To- 
phanes moves in " top society," and he will engage 
to call, in blue coat with brass buttons, yellow 
gloves, and a jaunty-looking hack; and if desired, 
the coachman will wear a gilt band around his 
hat.) 

I am determined to spare no pains to make my 
portraits of town life, true to the spirit of the times ; 
so that any future historian of our social growth, 
may find in these humble papers, the material 
suited to his purpose. 

Timon. 







FEB, 7. 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 3, 



" It is the same vanity, the same folly, and the same vice, only appear- 
ing different, as viewed through the glass of fashion. In a word, all 
mankind are a ." — Goldsmith. 



You will be amused to learn, my dear Fritz, 
that a city paper has set you down as a respectable 
maiden aunt of a certain poor literary jobber, to 
whom has been ascribed the authorship of these 
papers. I do not doubt but that you would become 
the petticoats as well as any Catholic Sister of the 
" People I have met ;" still I feel bound to enter a 
caveat against such wanton and gratuitous meta- 
morphose of your dignity and sex. 

As for the alleged authorship, — notwithstand- 
ing the allegation is supported by " undoubted 
sign?,"— I have only to say that the editors must 



44 THE LORGNETTE. 

set their wits at work anew. It is certainly not a 
little singular, that after having plainly told the 
public, that my name was wholly unknown, gen- 
tlemen should persist in ascribing the work to 
persons of acknowledged experience. Will not the 
dear Critics believe, that a plain and simple observer 
may use a pen with some little adroitness, although 
he has not dipped into the muddy Bethesda of 
city literature ? May not a man speak out honestly 
his sentiments, and detail the pleasant passages of 
his town-life, without being set down as one of the 
old brood of inordinate and pretentious scribblers ? 
Is there anything in the nature of the thing, that 
forbids the propriety, or the truth of my claim ? 
Will not the kind gentlemen — the bell-wethers of 
the sheep-flock — who have in their keeping the 
literary interests of the town, suffer a quiet fellow 
to have a word for himself, but they must forth- 
with credit his speculations to some of their own 
kith and kin ? 

As for the honor they do me, deeply sensible as I 
am of its importance, I must yet entreat their for- 
bearance in the bestowal ; it hurts my modesty, to 
say nothing of my character. 

It seems that not a few curious smelfungi, mis- 
led, perhaps, by the taking figure of the cover, have 
anticipated in the Lorgnette a sort of duodecimo 



TOWN CELEBRITIES. 45 

Judy, with its grinning conceits ; they are as 
much mistaken as if they were to look for classic 
acting at the Broadway Theatre, or for a conscience 
among the City Fathers. Those earnest for such 
funny delicacies, I would commend to the Chatham 
Theatre, an old file of Yankee Doodle, and a pewter 
mug of ale; and with these helps, I feel quite sure 
that they may turn them out, as plentifully, and of 
as good quality, as any at the bar of the Jefferson 
Lunch, or among the city items of the Commercial. 



TOWN CELEBRITIES. 

"If you wish to make people stare by doing better than others, why 
make them stare till they stare their eyes out 1" — Johnson. 

I should give you a poor idea, Fritz, of the 
winter life in town, if I did not keep you advised 
from week to week of the celebrities of the time ; 
yet they come up so fast, that it will be very hard 
to tell how they gain such character, and harder 
still, to tell how they lose it. But we are a quick- 
working people, and do these things at very short 
order ; while, you know, in the old states of 
Europe, it takes a long time for either man, 
woman, or child, to become any way famous. There 
the most extraordinary men may move about with- 
out a procession of gapers ; and a Lolah Monte? may 



*6 THE LORGNETTE, 

take her dish of coffee at a public table, without so 
much as a single man being choked with his roll 
at the. sight. 

This is not the way we do things in our town. 
Nothing out of the common course can happen but 
there arises a tremendous buzz, which carries know- 
ledge of it to all the salons of the town, and to 
every loge of the Opera. Not a man above the 
capacity of country Judge, or skipper of a coasting 
schooner, can arrive upon the island, but he is an- 
nounced in the gossiping papers under the head of 
personal movements ; and I do not believe that a 
man could kiss his wife in the street without its 
forming a nucleus for a " mysterious circumstance" 
in an evening journal, or that a lady could rup- 
ture her lacings, without its being chronicled in the 
Express, under head of " Casualties." 

The ingenious de Tocqueville would have found 
a reason for this itch of multiplying the marvelous, 
in the character of our institutions, and in the 
absence, throughout our social system, of all estab- 
lished and time-honored celebrities. We must have 
something near us to wonder at and admire, and 
if the State does not give us the means, why our 
own fancies will. Hence it is that mountebanks 
of all classes and characteristics, are passing before 
us, and growing in a breath into celebrities. 



TOWN CELEBRITIES. 47 

Tophanes, who is au courant of such matters, 
has frequently diverted me, by pointing out, upon 
the street, the lions of the day. There, for in- 
stance, — he will tell me, — goes a woman who is 
well known for having the prettiest ankles in the 
town, and who is remarkable for a partiality to 
damp pavements. Another is known for her 
artistic arrangement of dress, and has even been 
honored, under a feigned name, with a compli- 
mentary paragraph, under head of " things talked 
of" in the Home Journal. A third has given a 
magnificent ball, with which the town talk, from 
that of the prim nieces in the attic, to that of a dis- 
tinguished French reviewer, has been busy for a 
week. Mention in the last-named quarter has, of 
course, established reputation beyond all attempt 
at cavil. 

A fourth, who is a prim gentleman in very shag- 
gy coat, is pointed out to you as the hero of every 
salon ; and if he but add to this claim a certain 
celebrity in the Rackett court, or the authorship of 
a few sonnets, he will be gazed at admiringly by 
all the young ladies upon town. A fifth, is a mil- 
lionaire, or son of a millionaire, who has a hundred 
sly fingers and beaming eyes directed toward him, 
whenever he shows himself upon the walk. A 
sixth, will be named and noted as the hero of somo 
. 5 # 



48 THE LORGNETTE. 

little piquant intrigue, which the dear ladies name 
always with a Christian shudder, and such fond 
sigh of regret as might win a Joseph. Another, is 
some blooming author, or artist, who, by dint of 
newspaper mention, has grown Raphaelesque in 
celebrity, and who wears his honors like a moun- 
tain. I do not mean to say, Fritz, that these are 
characters whose fame has reached you, for their 
celebrity, unfortunately, blossoms and fades within 
the limits of the city. If they were to migrate, 
they might become lions in small country towns 
for a season ; but it is to be feared, that without the 
ambrosia of town Deism, they would soon sink to 
the level of ordinary men. 

Indeed, so determined is the disposition to build 
up easy celebrities, that I have had my fears, lest 
some of the paper limners, who are the most prying, 
inquisitive fellows you can imagine — should get 
wind of my box at the Opera, since I am a stranger, 
and vexy indefatigable with my glass — and serve 
me up in a paragraph under some such dainty 
head as "Riff Raff," or "Floatings By." Indeed, 
what with my rustic air, huge lorgnette, and bald 
head, I think I should cut rather a pretty figure 
in a statuette. And if Heaven were to spread be- 
fore me the snare of a town marriage, I should 
expect to find all my better feelings harrowed up 



FOREIGNERS 4S 

by some such announcement as this : — " We under- 
stand that a buxom old country gentleman, Mr. 
John Timon, led yesterday to the altar the young 
and blooming Miss Euphemia Trymen. The cere- 
mony was performed in Grace Church, and the 
powerful and sonorous voice of the distinguished 
Doctor added powerfully to the interest of the stir- 
ring occasion. Several carriages were in attend- 
ance, among which we noticed a few of the taste- 
ful equipages of our leaders of fashion." 

Foreigners in general may, so far as I have ob- 
served, be reckoned among the town celebrities. 
A German, with his guttural sounds, and with his 
taste in music, which, by dint of foreign terms, can 
be very well assumed, is almost certain of being 
hunted down, and bagged by all the good-natured 
celebrity mongers. And if he can scrape a fiddle 
daintily, or talk, with his eyes rolling to heaven, 
about Goethe, or cultivate a Faust intensity of look, 
he will be in demand all over the town by German 
loving young ladies, — and all this, notwithstand- 
ing he may drink all the small beer in the world, 
or smoke the filthiest of Meerschaums. It is ot 
but little account what name or position he may 
have held in the Fatherland : we democratize with 
a vengeance, where a distingue, sandy whisker is 
in the case; and our autocrats can open their doors 



50 THE LORGNETTE. 

to the veriest valet, if his lingual acquirements 
and naive foreign air will but make him a taking 
card in the salon. 

As for the Frenchman, though now between the 
valorous Poussin and the long-faced Bonaparte, a 
little under the weather, yet a good polka educa- 
tion, delicate perfumes well laid on, and a roundly- 
uttered " superbe" and " magnifiqiie" in a lady's 
ear, will do for him vast execution. And as for a 
genuine Cockney, in exceedingly sharp shirt collars, 
straight-brimmed hat, and plaid tights, who' mouths 
his words, and says, — "I de-say," and "it's very 
odd," and " nice person," and who talks easily about 
"Yicty," and the "Duke,"— he will be witch half the 
women of the town. And if he can manage to drop 
a compliment, not too clumsily contrived, into the 
ear of some respectable, established lady, who doats 
upon herself, her suppers, and her equipage, he will 
be heralded presently in the town gossip, as a "dis- 
tinguished son of Albion," with supposed acquire- 
ments enough to make him a ten days' wonder. Of 
course, if a shrewd fellow, his acquaintance at 
home will be all be-duked, and be-duchessed, and 
he will prove a rare trump for such ladies as turn 
up their noses at " money," and who have a keen 
scent for " blood." 

But all these have latterly been cast in the shade 




THE HUNGARIANS 



THE HUNGARIANS. 53 

by the Hungarian exiles ; among which were the 
valiant little Demoiselle Jagello, and Governor Uj- 
hazy, whose names the whole town has learned to 
pronounce, by aid of the philological developments 
oi a morning paper. Now nothing in the world is 
more proper than to welcome these poor fellows ; 
and nothing more generous than Stetson's kind 
bounty in giving them a home. But they have 
been feted, and visited ; and the stout little cur- 
mudgeon of a Governor drugged with dinners, and 
Mademoiselle tolled out to town balls ; and import- 
ant committees have been busy making up for us 
a set of celebrities as large as the Mexican con- 
querors. They have been sent for to make a house 
at the Opera, and have proved grand capital, not 
only for Senator Seward, but for aspiring ladies 
who give thin soirees. "Would it not be well for 
them to secure, as standard lions for the season, a 
score or two of those who are now on their way 
from Hamburg ? 

Now if the Governor, who is a stern old country- 
man, with a long grizzled beard like a Hebrew, 
would take honest advice, I would caution him 
against celebrity mongers, and urge upon him a quiet 
life, and a careful look-out for his estates at home ; 
which, if they pass from him in the lion's division 
of the spoil, he had better renew somewhere in the 



52 THE LORGNETTE. 

West, and bend that sturdy back of his to work upon 
American soil, and that brave soul to the apprecia- 
tion and advancement of the American State. 

As for Mademoiselle, who is a brisk, snug-built, 
dark-eyed little maid, they have made all manner 
of paragraphs about her shape, her tears, and 
her war-dress — in short, they have married her to 
town celebrity ; and though it is a far better 
match for her, than if she had married the best of 
the celebrity mongers, yet it will make for her an 
unquiet home, and will give her but flimsy altar- 
gods for her hearth-stone. 

Another poor victim they have tried to make of 
a splendid violinist, ushered in by a blast of town 
trumpets, and the taking announcement of a 
weekly journal that he was a u handsome young fel- 
low." The town ladies were naturally bewitched to 
see the charming Remeyni, who, though scarce out of 
his teens, had the sense to perceive the lure, and 
as Tophanes informs me, has escaped the martyr- 
dom. 

But the Hungarian fever, thanks to the stupidity 
of that lover of monarchs and the London Times — 
Mr. Bowen, has become almost chronic ; and we 
hear of respectable young men and women, sane on 
other matters, who have actually taken to study of 
the Magyar dialect, and talk of some such rodeem- 



TOWN CELEBRITIES. 53 

ing pilgrimages to the banks of the Danube, as 
crazy Southey once plotted to the wilds of Mis- 
souri. In all the bals costumes the Hungarian cos- 
tume is just now carrying the day, even against a 
Buena Yista hussar coat, or the lace trimmings of 
a Debardeur. Street mountebanks are wearing 
Hungarian caps ; the Hungarian balsam is in new 
demand; and Miss Lawson (Tophanes is my au- 
thority), who divides, with the Home Journal, the 
honors of being Pythoness of modes, is about to of- 
fer to the enchanted town a Jagello hat ! The next 
step will be a Weehazy polka, and a Weehazy beard, 
which, if they be duly chronicled in the Express* 

and countenanced by her Grace, Madame J , 

and deftly dished into an oily paragraph, by the 
Journal that dishes such things so well, will become 
the established order of the city. 

As for native growth, now that the Mexican war 
is fairly over (which, as I am told, crowded the town 
with heroes), the ways of achieving a really avail- 
able celebrity are reducible to some one of these : — 
by getting, or seeming to get, inordinately rich ; by 
giving a ball so splendid that it shall not lack no- 
tice even in the staid columns of a Revue ; by writ- 
ing a stupid book (if I said letters, you might con- 
demn me for an aspirant !) ; by newspaper mention 
under head of " PeTsonal Movements," or the com- 



5-1 THE LORGNETTE. 

mittal of some extraordinary absurdity ; by default- 
ing to the tune of some really clever sum ; by mak- 
ing a dinner speech, or getting drunk at the balls ; 
by running away with an heiress, or arriving as 
" bearer of dispatches ;" and finally, by being candi- 
date for, or recipient of a public office. 

There are many of them so important as to be 
worthy of a separate paper ; and I shall go on now 
to note only the casual and accidental celebrities 
which have fallen under notice. 

An Opera ball, one of which has lately miscar- 
ried, owing to an unfortunate clash of jealousies, 
might be made, by a little dexterous management, 
a thorough celebrity. I have the authority of my 
neighbor, the tasteful gentleman, for saying that 
the only one of the winter was quite recherche ; and 
he has kindly offered to interest himself with the 
managers, for securing me a ticket to such others 
as may be in store. He tells me that it is strictly 
understood between Mr. Maretzek and the tasteful 
managers, that no parvenus are to be admitted ; 
and as I am quite anxious to see the pure ton sift- 
ed of all riff-raff, parvenu rubbish, I shall certainly 
avail myself of his kindness. It is true I have 
had my misgivings about his own title to the 
floor ; but it appears that he is intimate with 
the chief of the orchestra, and has performed 



TOWN CELEBRITIES. 55 

some private service of a delicate nature, for a 
gentleman, prominent on the committee ; more- 
over, he wears a very respectable moustache, a 
jaunty-setting blue coat with brass buttons, and 
an air of easy indifference, so that he passes 
without challenge. 

Some of the " old families," as he calls them, have 
turned up their noses at these public balls ; but he 
hints that it is out of sheer jealousy, and that they 
are fast being overtopped by the ton of the Opera- 
house. And he went on to say, that the manners of 
such were altogether rusty and stiff, not brilliant 
enough for the times, and that they must soon sink 
into oblivion. I am inclined to think that he is 
more than half correct ; and if the old Dutchmen 
do not take warning — add a new cape to their coach- 
men's coat, trick out their daughters in more dash- 
ing cloaks, buy a seat at Grace Church, (though 
Dutch Reform stock may rise a little with the cross 
of the Fifth Avenue Meeting-House,) abuse Forti, 
subscribe to de Trobriand's Revue, and the Lor- 
gnette, they will be very sure to lose caste. 

There are not a few diminutive celebrities of the 
bails — people who get a name for constant attend- 
ance, or for a particular dance ; and I remember 
quite a young gentleman with a little down upon 

his lip, carefully turned up at the ends, who was 
6 



06 THE LORGNETTE. 

pointed out by my friend Tophanes, as an extraor- 
dinary prodigy in this last way. He seemed to have 
a due sense of his lion state, albeit his mane was 
not of very robust growth, and seemed as thorough- 
ly satisfied with his celebrity, as if it had been gain- 
ed by the invention of a steam-engine, or a patent 
elastic boot shank. 

I don't mean, dear Fritz, to affect the cynic, in 
making invidious comparisons, and by throwing 
ridicule on the favorites of the balls. Each phase of 
life has its brilliancies, and each pursuit its celeb- 
rities ; and there is no reason in the world why 
our heroes of the polka should not wear their honors 
of the pump, as serenely, and gaily, as the first whij. 
at Astley 5 s his success upon the box — as Celeste hei 
verdicts of applause at the Lyceum, or as our new- 
fledged writers their sprouting and hot-bed glories. 

The lady celebrities of the ball-room are distin- 
guishable sometimes by gracefulness in the dance, 
and sometimes by a most delectable familiarity. 
"Why, if our old flame Amy, of bal masque memory, 
were to cling to you in the waltz with such lan- 
guishing and tender air as belongs to some of 
our salon dancers, you would find yourself doubt- 
ing if she were as honest as she seemed. 

Only fancy to yourself, Fritz, a tall girl with 
shoulders bare to the lower edge of decorum,- — your 



TOWN CELEBRITIES. S7 

arm clasped round her waist well bound up, — her 
hand lying hard upon your shoulder, and her head 
sometimes reposing on it, so that her head-dress 
tickles your chin as you whirl in the dance, and a 
round eye full of a luxurious languor looking up at 
you from the faint head ! To tell you the truth, it 
would do honor to the Chaumiere. 

My old lady-friend the dowager explained this to 
me, however, as a pleasant eccentricity of the dan- 
cer ; and supported her statement by pointing out 
to me presently the same individual, in the act of 
borrowing a gentleman's handkerchief to wipe the 
perspiration from her neck ! The town is certainly 
on the gain in these matters ; the old prurient mo- 
desty of our day is gone by ; and we may expect to 
see, in a winter or two, some of these eccentric char- 
acters appearing in satin breeches. Indeed, I would 
by no means vouch for the fact, that they have not 
enjoyed particular divertisements of the sort, before 
a select company of gentlemen, already. 

I cannot help noticing in this connection, though 
they hardly rank among the celebrities, the great 
number of small fry, who swarm at the balls. The 
age of school-boys seems to have utterly gone by , 
and you will find little witlings in straight sharp col- 
lars talking robustly of polking, and balls, at an age 
when, judging from their chin and brain, they 



58 THE LORGNETTE 

should be busy with their Latin readers and Colum- 
bian class-books. And if you fall to talking with a 
hoydenish miss, or decayed spinster, about Rossi, or 
the new tenor, (for these are safe topics) you will 
find yourself supplanted by some little beardless 
fellow, who scarce comes up to your shoulder, and 
who yet insists with ail the gravity of a man, upon 
the next polk, with your belle ! 

It used to be the order, that men should have the 
gain of a year or two upon the ladies ; but the order 
S3ems now reversed, and a boy in his teens is reck- 
oned a fit partner for a woman of a score. Whether 
the ladies have degenerated, or the youngsters 
gained four years upon them in wit, since our 
day, I have not yet observed enough to determine 
correctly. 

Another sort of celebrity at the balls is the diner- 
out, who is heavy with Port and Champagne, and 
stupified with a new lift at the punch-bowl. He quite 
shocks sensitive girls by the boldness of his dance, 
and thinks it a pretty play to reel like a Bacchante 
through the waltz. In this matter, New- York 
fashionables decidedly take the lead of the rest of 
the civilized world ; in most quarters such unfortu- 
nate diners-out would be politely shown the door ; 
but it is by no means certain that here, it does not 
add to a gentleman's attractions. 



THE TRAVELED LADY. 59 

Here and there you may meet with a traveled 
lady who becomes a pretty subject for salon celeb- 
rity. She wears an air of most captivating impu- 
dence, and pronounces the names of a great many 
foreign towns unexceptionably, even to the Graelic 
guttural in Munich. She wears gloves from Boivin's 
in the Rue de la Paix, and hopes she shall never be 
obliged to wear any others : she subscribes to the 
Courrier des Etats-Unis 5 and criticises the Ameri- 
can translations of French authors. She drops her 
cards about town, dating from the Rue Lavoisier, 
or de Lille, and leaves a regret with the servant, 
that she has no American cards about her. She 
talks in a hurried, broken, epigrammatic way of 
Paris shops and soirees, — assumes that air of easy 
languor, which becomes the elegant faineant, weary 
of admiration, and gives such interesting details of 
city life abroad as dazzle her beardless devo- 
tees, but which it is plain to see are picked up from 
a gossiping French femme de chambre. It is won- 
derful how much pretty talk of travel, and scandal 
of Paris life, can be accumulated from the morn- 
ing chats with a little piquant grisette ; and if any 
ambitious conversationist is desirous of lighting up 
her evenings with richer foreign tattle than can be 
gathered from any " scissorings from foreign files," 
there could scarce be a happier method hit upon 
6* 



60 THE LORGNETTE. 

than to import for private service, a middle-aged, 
faded, Paris femme de chambre. 

Our foreign celebrity criticises in ex cathedra 
style the dresses of the town, and makes modest 
young women, who are simply respectable, very 
uneasy in their simplicity. If a friend questions 
the propriety of certain extravagances of dress, she 
meets it with an inimitable toss of the head, that 
quite sets the matter at rest. Or if some prudent 
old lady inveighs against a too lavish display of her 
personal charms, — Pho ! has she not seen the 
dress of the Duchess of So and So, and shall she be 
taught proprieties in our i own ? 

A young gentleman of ' parts,' and high res- 
pectability, will be presented by some middle-aged 
spinster as a gentleman lecently returned from 
abroad, and possibly a hint will be dropped about 
superior acquirements, a Grerman university, or a 
finished education. At all which, the young gen- 
tleman of ' parts' adjusts his shirt collar, looks 
down at his Paris boot, bows graciously, and thinks 
" it is a fine day." Or if last from England, he 
coughs " ahem," and says " aye," in affirmation, 
— clips his words very uncommonly short, and af- 
fects a most extraordinary coolness, with which 
the young ladies are delighted, and think " he is se 
very gentlemanly." He says that St. Paul's ia 



THE TRAVELED GENTLEMAN. 61 

a fair sort of a church, and also Westminster Ab- 
bey, in its way ; and he thinks the Duke of North- 
umberland has " rayther a clever 'ouse" at Char- 
ing Cross, but he doesn't think his equipage is the 
< thing.' 

He intends " going over" again presently to hear 
Jenny Lind, or to see Cerito. Of course he thinks 
Truffi is very well in her way, but quite provin- 
cial — quite ! As for Paris, which he pronounces 
inadvertently Paree, he was quite charmed with it 
— quite ; and he can give a very particular and 
graphic description of the Hotel Meurice, and such 
statistics about palaces and gardens, as he has 
picked up from his valet de place, or Gralignani's 
Gruide. Of course he became perfectly familiar 
with French, and has a practical knowledge of 
Italian and Spanish ; though it seems to him a con- 
founded affectation to be using these unusual ac- 
quirements in company ; for his part, he could not 
so far forget himself. He can tell some very rich 
stories about brigands in Italy, which date about 
the time of his visit. 

For the matter of Art, he must confess with some 
pain, that he has not been able to enter our small 
collections since his return ; but he hopes that after 
a little further depletion of the foreign habit, he will 
be sufficiently reduced to enjoy even the Art-Union 



62 THE LORGNETTE. 

Yet he would by no means sneer at our artists — lie 
would not be thought to do so ; he thinks they need 
encouragement, particularly that of men of taste 
and travel. 

He opens a conversation with a new acquaint- 
ance, by observing, that upon the whole manners 
are improving in this country ; he sees marks of it, 
he thinks, all about him, — particularly in the little 
naked statuettes which he has met with in private 
parlors ; and he does sincerely hope that we shall 
soon become thoroughly refined in such matters. 
He doesn't know but the etiquette is as yet a little 
provincial, but he kindly thinks that its taint will 
wear off by degrees. 

He talks about the London Times, and hopes he 
shall not lose sight of it ; he feels quite an interest 
in some of the noble families ; and says it was 
rumored as he left town, that his acquaintance, the 
son of the Marquis of So and So, was about to 
marry the Honorable Juliana Titus. 

Drop to him a remark about the weather, and he 
says he quite likes it — quite the London air ; he 
passed last season in London, and asks if the 
steamer has arrived. At the hotels he affects the 
English manner with the waiters — calling them 
all ' John,' and the porter, 'boots' ; or he strikes his 
tumbler with his fork, and calls out accidentally, 



THE TRAVELED GENTLEMAN.' 63 

Garcon ! and will sometimes forget himself so far, 
after dinner, as to call the stout Irish chamber- 
maid — 77ion petit chat ! 

He calls a hack-driver, cabman ; and the omni- 
bus drivers, coachmen; he never says cents, but 
pennies ; and sometimes talks of ha'pennies, and 
calls the Hudson, "Terns*" He talks about rec- 
tors, and curates, and vicars, and good livings, 
and says he quite unconsciously found himself 
praying, the other Sunday, "for Her Most Gracious 
Majesty, the Queen, and all the Royal Family!" 

I fancy, Fritz, that you smile ironically at these 
learned and accomplished graduates of foreign tra- 
vel; and your smiles are not ill-timed. And I am 
half persuaded to cast aside reserve, and my quiet 
habit of talk, to lash as they deserve these puerile 
coxcombs, fed on their own vanity, and the tolerance 
of the town. Yet there are plenty of weak ones— 
not all of them weak from lack of years — who lis- 
ten with unction to such conceited babblers, and 
who fructify this sort of celebrity, by renewing ex- 
pressions of applause, and studied smiles of adula- 
tion. 

You are enough of an American, my dear Fritz, 
though you have wintered in the snows of Peters- 
bourg, and lighted your spring with the delicious 
glow of a Grreek sun rising over the iEgean, to wish 



64 THE LORGNETTE 

for something more earnest, strong, and manly in 
American life, than will permit the every-day pros- 
tration before the social Juggernaut of Europe. 

"When, in the name of Heaven, are we to have 
an honest, simple, Republican basis for our sociali- 
ties, which shall not need, nor ask the meretricious 
adornments of foreign style, and which shall reject 
all miserable pilferers of those trappings which be- 
long to the lordly state of the Old World, as in- 
capable of manly intent, and a severe Republican 
dignity ? 

The jackdaw may steal peacocks' feathers, but 
they will not make him an eagle. 

TlMON. 




FEB, 14. 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 4, 



Pen fais un aveu public ; je me suis propose que de representer la vie 
des hommes telle qu'elle est ; a Dieu ne plaise que j'aieeu dessein de de- 
signer quelqu'un en particulier ! — Le Sage. 

I am sorry, Fritz, that my letters to you, writ* 
ten down in the humor of the moment, and con- 
taining such observations upon town life and socie- 
ty, as I thought would be agreeable to you to read, 
should have provoked the condemnation of bearing 
too great a severity of remark, and of wearing an 
air of bitterness. I had hoped to be so far sustained 
by sensible men and women, in ridicule of what all 
must confess to be worthy of ridicule, as to escape 
such reproof. You know me well enough, Fritz, 
to be aware that it is not in my nature to dislike 
for the sake of disliking, or to sneer, from a habit 
of sneering. 



ffi THE LORGNETTE. 

Is it true, that what all the world reproves in 
talk, is not to be reproved in print? and that excep- 
tions which are taken every day to particular ex- 
travagances, are no sooner made public, and re- 
duced to the point of words, than they change to 
imputed slanders ? I abjure this construction, and 
the charges which it entails. 

A lady of piquant talk will play off the shafts of 
her wit upon ridiculous usages, but the moment 
she sees the same invested with the dignity of type, 
she must needs exclaim against the impropriety ! 
How in the world, then, are our manners to take 
healthier forms, if their abuses are to grow up un- 
noticed and unchecked ? 

Do not for a moment think, my dear Fritz, that 
my reception in the town has been such as to sour 
my temper, or to render my remarks the result of 
an embittered and unworthy envy. There is not a 
city in the world where a stranger is welcomed 
with more hospitality, and where his short-comings 
are treated with a more lenient hand ; nor is there 
another upon this side the Atlantic, where a man 
can pursue the bent of his own inclinations, so lit- 
tle subject to remark and observation. Nowhere 
are the ladies more kind and conciliating ; nowhere 
are the men more obliging and courteous. But in 
a new and growing society, where the old ele- 



GRATEFUL CENSURE. 67 

ments are a^ the while blending into new combina- 
tions, and where arbitrary distinctions are growing 
up to stand in place of the fixed but factitious 
ones of the European world, it is but natural that 
abuses should creep into the body social, and the 
gangrene of fashionable extravagance fester here 
and there in the system. Grod forbid, that in ap- 
plying the caustic to the diseased parts, I should 
be ignorant or insensible of the healthful and vigor- 
ous action of w~hat is sound and perfect ! 

But while I deeply regret the reproval of some, I 
am proud of that so freely bestowed by others. I 
did have a fear, that in proposing a series of ob- 
servations upon the fashionable life of the town, I 
should in some measure seem to sympathize with 
that class of persons who rail ignorantly and blindly 
at whatever savors of wealth and respectability, 
and who derive their spiritual nutriment from such 
papers as the Sunday Courier. But by their most 
welcome abuse, they have convinced me of my 
error, and have relieved me of one of the worst em- 
barrassments which beset me. I cannot enough 
thank such for their labor, and shall try hard to 
merit a continuance of their censure ; only regret- 
ting that their capacities are unequal to the task of 
rendering it as pointed and forcible as would be 
wished. 



THE LORGNETTE. 



WAYS OF GETTING- INTO SOCIETY. 

Cy n'entrez pas machefains praticiens, 

Clers, Tbasauchiens, mangeurs du populaire, 

Officiaux, scribes, et pharisiens, 

Juges anciens, qui les bons parroiciens 

Ainsi que chiens mettez au capulaire. — Gargantua. 

Liy. I. Cap. LIV. 

Tophanes, who is something of a philosopher in 
his way, as well as a wag, has arranged from his 
note-book, what he calls a schedule of the prerequi- 
sites to fashionable success. He has arranged it in 
the pretentious manner of those public economists 
and politicians who make a reputation by their sy- 
nopses and arrangement of figures. It certainly 
has a business-like and authentic air ; and though 
I must confess to ignorance of its entire credibili- 
ty, as well as to sundry of its allusions, it shall 
come in precisely as he has prepared it. Prerequi- 
sites : — 



! Money, 
Name, 
Swagger. 
! Person, 
Impudence, 
Mr. Browne. 
! Display, 
Music, 
A Coach. 

7th. 



! Parties, 
Politics, 
Invention. 

! Literature, 
Moustache, 
Taste. 

! Religion, 
Propriety 
Honesty. 
Good-Nature, 
Modesty, 
Indifference, 



WAYS OF GETTING INTO SOCIETY. 69 

Following out his analytical arrangement, To- 
phanes has written against each item of his sched- 
ule the names of such as have gained, or still 
maintain position, by possession of the prerequisite 
with which they stand credited. But since I have 
taken Heaven to witness, in the name of old Le 
Sage, that I have no personal intent, the names 
must be suppressed. 

But although these are noted as the prerequisites, 
they are not always the absolute causes of success ; 
and I am assured that not a few with unbounded 
means, either from lack of name, or too great im- 
pudence — or, what amounts to the same, too great 
modesty — are reckoned quite upon the outskirts of 
society. Others again, with abundance of swag- 
ger, yet from a want of either money or music, are 
in an almost hopeless state of exile. Still others, 
possessing creditable names, are so unfortunately 
addicted to propriety or religion, as to render them 
utter outcasts. Even Literature, as Tophanes in- 
forms me, without the aid of a moustache, or Mr. 
Browne (who I suppose to be a writer for the Lit- 
erary "World), is a mere nullity ; and many a poor 
poetaster, in sheer ignorance of Derby and Martell, 
has uttered lamentable Jeremiads over his fallen 
state, and hung his harp upon the willows. Relig- 
ion of itself is not altogether hopeless, provided it be 



70 THE LORGNETTE. 

of a striking and brilliant sort — well spiced up with 
startling doctrines, which are altogether in advance 
of the old hum-drum order. Thus, a bishop who has 
a leaning toward the worship of the Virgin, or a 
layman who is strictly tractarian, or a lady who 
inclines to private confession and rosaries, or a 
trinitarian who verges upon the unity, or a papist 
who curses the Pope, are all in a fair way to make 
their profession brilliant. 

Taste will do very well, but must be properly 
guided ; and I am assured, that several interesting, 
and well-intentioned young men have ruined their 
prospects by too great independence in this matter. 
It is by no means worth while to express an opin- 
ion about a new opera, or a new picture, before 
ascertaining the views entertained by the Home 
Journal, De Trobriand's Revue, or the Courier and 
Enquirer ; and if these could be confirmed by the 
opinion of a ' distinguished leader of the ton,' the 
sooner they are promulgated the better for a man's 
reputation. As for expressing a contrary opinion, 
none venture upon it, except a few stupid /ogees, 
who frequent the Society Library, and who read 
the London Athenaeum. 

So with regard to etiquette, and the parure of 
balls ; nothing would be more fatal, Tophanes tells 
me, than for a simple-minded young man to ad- 



THE TOWN TASTE. 71 

vance observations upon these subjects, which 
would militate against those entertained by a 
' French nobleman,' or Martell. 

Taste, upon the whole, appears to be rather a 
dangerous element in the character of an aspirant ; 
and if it be rude — that is to say, cultivated under 
such old-fashioned teachers as Burke, Alison, and 
Reynolds, it had much better be kept in abeyance, 
until it shall have become rounded into the graces 
of the town dicta. On some topics, indeed, a little 
latitude is allowable, such as Forti's singing, or Mel- 
ville's last book, or Mrs. Butler's horseback riding ; 
but woe be to the unfortunate young man, who in 
a moment of forgetfulness, should express admira- 
tion for Boneventano's voice, or smile at Sanquirico's 
pantomime, or think Truffi any tiling but exquisite, 
even in black satin. 

Indeed, it would be quite unsafe for an ambitious 
young man to venture without some previous prep- 
aration on the score of tasty remark, into one of 
our town galleries ; for if he should inadvertently 
linger before a painting which had not received the 
stamp of approbation from those who guide in these 
matters, it would at once blast his reputation. I 
am not a little surprised that some of our publishers 
who have latterly taken to stealing occasional mat- 
ter from the journals, should not venture upon the 



72 THE LORGNETTE. 

preparation of a little text-book of taste, carefully 
compiled from the Home Journal, the Day-Book, and 
Sun newspaper, with notes by the author of ' Eti- 
quette,' and a preface by N. P. W. They might 
adorn the title with a Vignette — an Hyperion head ; 
and for tail-piece, they might adopt a prize of the 
Art-Union. 

You will be on your guard, then, my dear Fritz, 
when you come to the city ; and don't make your 
friends blush by running counter to the town stand- 
ards; get hold, if you can, of an odd number of the 
Revue du Nouveau Monde, and post yourself a page 
or two in taste. 

Kctj rcwb' 6 Xpt/^wv, 'kapvpog sCd', 6 ^ Ss'Xwv 
Xiyal. 

Whip up your Greek, Fritz, and tell me if this 
line from Euripides comes not as pit-pat as in 
the Attic Stage-piece, or as any on the fly-leaves 
of St. Leger ? ' Follow the town umpires of taste, 
and you may achieve a reputation ; neglect them, 
and you had better be dumb ;' and this translation 
is as near the mark, as Gdiddon's interpretation of 
the hieroglyphics ; or as any Opera lady's construc- 
tion of the quel che fa, in Don G-iovanni . 

As for music, it will work social wonders, ab- 
solutely Orphean ; and a young lady who cannot 
boast her two or three months' tuition from some 



MUSICAL TASTE. T3 

Signor Birbone, is lost to all hope of success. 
Gentlemen who are without a decided bent in that 
way, should cultivate a certain intensity of ex- 
pression, which is to be worn at all private con- 
certs, but rarely to be assumed at the Opera : he 
should also learn the meaning of barytone, soprano, 
and contralto, and if possible pronounce them with 
the Italian accent ; he should occasionally look 
over Saroni's Musical Times, and get some crude 
notions about the difference between the German 
and Italian composers. It would be well for him 
to know something of the personal history of La- 
blache, or Grisi, and he should speak enthusiasti- 
cally of Meyerbeer, and rather doubtingly of Du- 
prez. If caught in the society of those who really 
talk knowingly on these topics, it would be best for 
him to keep silent, look very wise, and to fill up the 
intervals of talk, by humming the ' Last link is 
broken,' or Yankee Doodle. 

It would never do to admire the old fashion ballad 
singing ; and as for psalm tunes, a man had better 
be caught listening to i Love not,' from the band 
of the Anatomical Museum. 

But I must defer, my dear Fritz, saying what 
might be said of town coaches and politics, in their 
connection with social position, to another letter ; 
and I shall entertain v>u, while vour are smoking; 



74 THE LORGNETTE. 

the lower end of j our cigar, with a fragment of a 
curious diary, from a fashionable friend of Tophanes'. 
You will see that he is almost as little used to 
■journal making, as many of our later writers of 
travels ; but there are sparks in him of capital 
good taste ; and, if I might use the language of the 
town critics, though not very scholar-like, it is 
clearly the production of a gentleman, and per- 
haps a soldier. Tophanes has recommended that 
it should be entitled the 

DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER. 

Dec. 20. Went to Trimum's party last night ; 
danced with Miss Thuggins, — rather tasty, but 
devilish blue. I wish she wouldn't wear such 
a ridiculous head-dress; found everybody laughing 
at us ; very well for a chat, but musn't dance with 
her. Talked with Mrs. Knowem, — a good lady 
to be acquainted with, ugly as sin ; but then she's 
a favorite, and good-natured as possible ; offered 
to take me to the Blinkum's — kind of her. Hope 
it'll be stormy, so we can go in a carriage ; don't 
like to be seen walking in the street with her. 
Must send her a bouquet. 

Dec. — . Called to-day on the Blinkum's — rather 
cool ; but had enough compliments ready to warm 
'em down ; must get a new stock against I go again. 



DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER 75 

Grot an invitation to receptions — shall accept; shan't 
be very particular ; they are nice people, very re- 
spectable, but confounded poor. 

Dec. — . Gro to a ball to-night at "Widge's. They 
say it's a splendid affair ; hardly know how I got 
an invitation. [Mem. To call on Browne to-morrow, 
and settle up ; he'll be blabbing.) Want confound- 
edly to get an introduction to Miss Blank — capital 
dancer, and very distinguished-like ; it would be 
quite a feather to take her up to supper; must con- 
trive it somehow ; mustn't forget to wear the em- 
broidered waistcoat — that's killing. Am afraid I 
shall meet Mrs. Dandy, a dear good friend — do 
any thing for her ; but she'll keep me in the corner 
for an hour ; must try and not catch her eye. How 
infernally she does dress ! 

Jan. 1. Fagged out! Let me see — a hundred 
and fifty calls, — there's a gain of forty-two on last 
year — capital gain too — all top-knots ! The Widge's 
rather cool, but then half a dozen saw me there— 
that'll count. There's a stupid set a body must 
call on, or they'll be talking him down, and that'll 
never do. After all, it's cheap to get a good word 
for a visit once a year. Mean to go in a carriage 
another year, if the salary don't fall off. 

Jan. — . Grot an introduction last night to Miss 
Tubins ; she's an heiress — a hundred thousand, they 



76 THE LORGNETTE. 

say, in her own right. She's a little literary — wish 
I'd known it before ; might have quoted any quantity 
from Byron and Shakspeare. [Mem. To look over 
book of extracts.) Is it best to call on her ? Am 
going to the Opera to-night ; hope she'll be there ; 
no idea of being particular ; but then it's a capi- 
tal thing to be seen with an heiress; it makes 
people talk. And then again, chatting during the 
music is capital; it makes one appear indifferent, 
as if he had heard better in his day ; and, moreover, 
it allows you to put your head very close to a lady's 
ear, which looks very familiar and confidential-like. 
It looks well. [Mem. To put some peppermints in 
my vest pocket.) 

Jan. — . That cursed fellow B tells me he 

suggested my name to Mrs. Figgins as a nice, gen- 
tlemanly young man — first among the l admissi- 
bles' — and yet haven't got an invitation. Must 
look very bold and unsuspicious when I pass her 
carriage ; think I shall give her a downright stare. 
It'll look well — as if I had never heard of her before. 
Bowed to-day to the Miss Widges — think they took 
it kindly ; must call some day next week, and 
rub up my French a little before going ; they say 
they talk French capitally. Should like to manage 
to walk home from church with them some Snn- 
dav ; all the world is out, and of course it will 



DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER, 77 

make remark. They say, too 3 they are great 
church women — better humor it. (Mem. To look 
over Dr. Hawks' tract on Auricular Confession, and 
to buy a new box of pomade.) 

Jan. — . "Wonder where Shanks buys his cravats ? 
They have a devilish pretty tie. Ask Mrs. Beman 
about it, and when the new shirts are coming home. 
Am going to the Dangle's to-night — magnificent 
house, fine flowers, plenty of money, but only so so 
for ' blood . ' They say she wants to ' work "up ; ' think 
she may in the course of a winter or two, seeing 
that the — — -'s have done as much. "Wonder what 
it'll cost her? Shall try, I think, to get into their 
graces ; they'll be grateful for attentions — know 
they will. Needn't be afraid of compliments — can 
put 'em on raw ; they can't see the edges. They 
say Mrs. Dinks visits them, and she's of an old 
family ; must find her out — meet her as if I knew 
her ; it'll tell well. 

Jan. — . G-ot an invitation to Swivel's ; — made his 
money by some small manufacturing, either sad- 
dles, horse-shoes, or book-backs, but musn't de- 
cline. Besides, he has a pretty daughter, though 
she don't know much ; — all the better for that. Am 
to dine out to-morrow. Wonder who'll be there ? 
Must look over my dinner stories : heard a deuced 
8 



78 THE LORGNETTE. 

good one the other day, but afraid I've lost it, 
"Wish I had learned to sing. 

Met Stokoskinski the other day ; wonder if it'll 
pay to ask him to dine ? He's a vulgar toad, but 
then he's a lion : it won't do to lose him : and these 
poor scape-goats are, they say, very grateful for a 
dinner. 

There's Mangle, too — has written a book, — I 
don't know what : strange that the ladies can re- 
gard such fal-de-ral matters ; but they do. I must 
try and see him — of course, meet him as an old 
friend, and tell the women I'm intimate, and 
that he's a sad dog. The jackanapes won't know 
the difference — talk to him about his book, and I'll 
play him just where I want him; he's as poor as a 
crow. (Mem. To step into Putnam's, and ask what 
he wrote ?) 

Jan. — . They've got a new singer at the Opera — 
wonder what they say of her ? Must call on Mrs. 

H ; it won't do to be precipitate ; can't depend 

now on the Home Journal ; they say it's growing fash- 
ionable to dispute even "W . How shall I manage 

to get at some of 's literary soirees ? To be sure, 

they sneer at her, but it's sheer envy ; besides, one 
sees the lions, and as they say, a great many first- 
rate people ; and gets a deal of serviceable mattei 



DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER. 79 

— rather heavy, bat do very well to spice with. 
Should like to know an artist or two ; one gets sup- 
plied with genteel terms about the paintings ; and 
that reminds me to buy an Italian Dictionary ; 
what the d — 1 is chiaroscuro ? Miss Sweepstakes 
asked me the other day, and had to tell it was a 
particular sort of varnish; hope it is. 

Jan. — . Went to a concert last night with the , 
Swet's — horrid hot, and stupid. But then they are 
serviceable bodies, very respectable, and all that ; 
very good recommends in case I want to get mar- 
ried ; musn't let the acquaintance drop. What a 
fool I was to talk about the Opera — ought to have 
remembered that they were sad blues ; must ask 
Wiley for a list of Dr. Cheevers works, and if not 

too long, commit to memory. — Asked the S 's if 

they knew the author of Gr ringers, and pointed him 
out ; it's all very well to know these characters, but 
it is bad to talk too admiringly, — best to be a little 
flippant, and patronizing. Shall try and get ac- 
quainted with Dr. G- of the Prose Writers ; they 

say he knows everybody, and everything, and tells 
the oddest stories! A devilish fine acquisition. 
{Mem. To ask him if he knows Dr. Headley?) By 
Jove, I must write a book ! — think the Harpers would 
publish if I'd pay for the printing, and advertising. 



80 THE LORGNETTE. 

and guaranty against loss by fire ; and as for its moral* 
about which they say they are rather tidy, why I'd 
stick a verse from the Psalms in the title-page, and 
dedicate it to some D — D fellow, or other. 

Passed an evening a day or two ago at the 
Shrimp's — very learned indeed ; quite scientific-like 
— talk Greek, they say; yet there was a capital set 
— uncommon respectable. Must cultivate the sci- 
ences a little more ; wonder what the subscription 
price is to Littel ? 

Jan. — . Have just found out who drives that mag- 
nificent equipage with the splendid harness cloth ; 
shall try and get upon speaking terms ; to be sure, 
they are stupid parvenus ; but then it tells well to 
take off your hat to a showy equipage. The talk 
last night at Fidge's ran upon books, and I had the 
stupidity to run off in a string of praises upon Ws 
book, that I picked up in the newspaper. Found 
3ut that the Fidge's felt scandalized at something 
he had written ; of course they looked horror at 
me ; must be more careful ; — will try and fish up 
some abuse against I go there again. 

Jan. — . Had a visit from Mapes, a country cou- 
sin ; what on earth sent him to town ; the fellow 
will be insisting on my showing him the lions, and 
he's most unconsciously gawky. Wonder if he's 



DIARY OF A FASHION HUNTER. 81 

got the money to buy another hat — am afraid I 
shall have to lend it. Shall change my lodgings in 
the spring. 

Went the other night to take supper at Dob- 
son's — a very scholarly sort of a catch, who wants 
to be a high liver, and all that ; but he can't make 
it go. — at least, don't think so. Latin quotations 
won't go downnow-a-days. He had better take to 
music or horses. However, it looks well to be seen 
with such book chaps — glad there are such- — you 
get up a little reputation for book-knowledge, and 
as you don't use it, people think you are very mod- 
est ; — I think so too. 

Jan. — . It won't do, lam convinced of it, to go to 
a Presbyterian Church any more ; it may answer 
when a man's established in the town, but it ain't 
fashionable : can't humor my religious scruples 
any more — feel attached to 'em, very much,— but 
it won't do : — must try and smuggle into Grace. 
The Holy Communion is very well, but rather low ; 
besides, everybody can go there, so there's no par- 
ticular merit. {Mem. To buy one of the fancy 
prayer-books, and get a velvet collar put on my 
coat.) There's more in this church matter than 
a body thinks for ; — used to slight it, and go regu- 
lar as a deacon to Dr. S 's ; but it don't tell at 

all. 

8* 



82 THE LORGNETTE. 

They say it's getting quite the thing to be vestry- 
man ; must lay an oar to windward for that berth. 
As for Puseyism, it's best to keep cool, and see how 
the wind lies. 

Jan. — . Went to the Opera last night ; got for a 
moment into the Shrimps 's box — very chatty, but 
uncommon stupid : told the Blinkum's so, at which 
they laughed (never smiled at any thing I said be- 
fore), and thought me very funny — asked me to 
spend the evening with them. 

D — n it, I think I'm getting on ! 

Such, dear Fritz, is the rude but racy account 
which Tophanes' friend has given of his prospects 
and tactics. You will, I know, agree with me in 
saying, that it bears the stamp of earnestness, and 
very many internal proofs of authenticity. Very 
many of its allusions are of course unknown to me ; 
but should they prove to be apt, and pointed, I 
shall insist on publishing further extracts. At the 
same time, I may add, that while Tophanes holds 
himself responsible for all the material statements 
of his friend, yet should anything about them prove 
offensive to the parties alluded to, such parties 
shall have the amplest opportunity for denial or ex- 
planation, and their letters shall be treated with 
the utmost consideration. 



CORRESPONDENCE. 



CORRESPONDENCE . 



We shall give tlie following letter and its an- 
swer ; for although they are hardly worth printing, 
they may perhaps serve as an encouragement to 
such letter-writers as have never ventured out of 
the Sunday papers, or the Globe. 

Mr. Timon : 

Dear Sir, — I wish you would send me, soon as 
convenient, the card of your friend Tophanes. I 
think he must be a ' stick ;' and I rather imagine 
he can give me the right sort of advice. For you 
must know that I've been hanging on the town 
nearly the whole winter, and yet the d — 1 of an 
invitation have I got. 

Mind you, I don't act hurriedly in this matter. 
I want you to know that I've done all that a man 
could be reasonably expected to do. In the first 
place, I've paid Martell a bill of some $10 121 ; I 
have cultivated what I consider one of the prettiest 
moustaches afloat ; I have worn out nearly three 
dozen of Alexander's best kids at the Opera, con- 
certs, at Grace Church, and on Broadway. I have 
even stepped into Crowen's several times to sub- 
scribe to De Trobriand's Revue — but confound it, I 
can't read French. I get my breeches cut at Der- 



84 THE LORGNETTE. 

by's, and have sent a bouquet to Madame P ; 

besides, I've written a sonnet to one of the most 
fashionable ladies of the town, for the Day-Book 
(the Home Journal wouldn't print it), and sent hei 
a copy. 

My name is on the books at the New York Club, 
and I've got all the tittle-tattle of the day at my 
tongue's end ; I don't wear a scratch, and as for 
the polka, I've been taking lessons all winter. It 
wouldn't be of so much importance, if these accom- 
plishments had not given me rather a bad name down 
town; there's no hope of a law office, and my ap- 
plication the other day for a clerkship in a Broad- 
way store was sneezed at. Couldn't Tophanes 
help me out ? 

Very confidentially 

Tim. GrREEN. 

N. B. — They take in my letters at the New 
York Club. 

P. S. — I forgot to tell you that I carry a cane, 
and part my hair behind. 



REPLY. 

Tophanes' compliments to Mr. Green, and would 
recommend to Mr. Green, Mr. Browne. 

University Terrace, 5 P< M. 



CORRESPONDENCE 85 

With this, my dear Fritz, I leave you to your 
quiet country avocations, until the mail of another 
week shall light up your solitude with a glowing 
No. V. 

TlMON. 







FEB, 21, 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 5. 



44 Chi s'insegna ha nil pazzo per maestro." — Italian Proverb. 

The Opera-going ladies are, of course, so familiar 
with Italian that I shall have no need to translate 
for them an Italian motto ; but for you, Fritz, over 
whom ten years have rolled (and don't blush for 
your age) since you regaled yourself on stewed kid- 
neys, and Orvietto wine, in the dirty trattoria that 
stands under the lea of the Roman Pantheon, I 
will render the proverb into plain English:— ' Who 
teaches himself has a fool for his master !' And 
now for the application. Sundry wiseacres, guided 
by their own penetration, have fixed the authorship 
of these papers. Unfortunately however, both for 
themselves and the public, they do not at all agree 
9 



88 THE LORGNETTE. 

in their conclusions ; and my publisher has latterly 
supplied an inquisitive friend of mine with a list of 
no less than six or seven different persons, each one 
of whom had been represented to him as the un- 
doubted author of the Lorgnette. 

Among the names, I notice that of a prominent 
journalist, a classical editor, a newspaper reporter, 
a sagacious musical critic, a professed book-maker, 
a doctor of divinity, a vamper-up of old jokes, an 
erudite merchant, a slashing medical man, and — 
would you believe it ? — an enterprising literary lady! 

Indeed, I had the pleasure, at a late evening en- 
tertainment, of hearing the whole of the last num- 
ber read aloud, from beginning to end. And it 
heightened not a little the mirth of the matter, to 
find that certain critiques upon the piece, which I 
hazarded in course of conversation, took vastly well, 
from their unsophisticated nature ; and they even 
drew down upon me, in the end, the titter of the 
whole company, to think that a man should be so 
ignorant, as I seemed to be, of town society . To 
tell the truth, I showed such lamentable ignorance 
of the more pointed allusions, that the hostess was 
evidently much mortified, and would have come 
near to blushing — though she was over forty— had I 
not apologized, by pleading a recent return from 
the country. 



THE SUSPECTED AUTHORS. 89 

The whole of this company, which was variously 
made up of keen, middle-aged women and astute 
young fellows of five-and-thirty, persisted in attrib- 
uting the work to a certain gentleman of high scho- 
lastic attainment, who has spent many years abroad , 
and who was represented to me, as a person of ex- 
traordinary character in various ways. Of course, 
I expressed a great desire to see such a lion, and 
am promised, by my friend the old dowager lady, 
a sight of him at her rooms, on some evening of the 
coming week. She hinted, however, that I would 
do well to pay particular attention to my toilette 
on the evening of the presentation, since otherwise, 
he might serve me up in his next, as a bumpkin. I 
expressed due thanks, and shall appear in one of 
"Wyman's best blue coats, elegantly set off with fig- 
ured gilt buttons. 

A young gentleman who was directly accused of 
concocting these weekly opinions in the book-shop 
of my publisher, met the charge, as I understand, 
with a simper, and a knowing smile — cocked his 
hat a little upon one side of his head, and attempted 
to whistle a stave from La Favorita, but broke up 
before he w r as half way through. These were cer- 
tainly suspicious signs, and had their weight with 
the shop-boy. 

The literary lady, too, as I am told, denied the 



90 THE LORGNETTE. 

allegation with an air of evident embarrassment — < 
as, indeed, any woman would naturally deny a 
progeny of so very equivocal origin. I wish to 
heaven, Fritz, that the state of our morals was such, 
that no lady of the town should manifest any 
greater anxiety to bely her offspring. And though 
John Timon blurts the matter himself, — if the town 
striplings did no more discredit to their parentage 
than the Lorgnette, there would be little need ot 
sharpening up these ' studies of the town,' aut res 
tangere acu! 

RESPECTABLES. 
Vile bigots, hypocrites, 



Externally-devoted apes, base snites, 

Puffed up, wry-necked beasts, worse than the Huns 

Or Ostrogoths, forerunners of baboons ; 

dissembling varlets, seeming sancts, 

beggars pretending wants, 

Fat chuffcats, smell-feast knockers, doltish gulls. 

Gate of Theleme. 

There are an almost incalculable number of re- 
spectables in town — both respectable things, as 
churches, eating-houses, slop-shops, and the like ; 
and respectable people, as lawyers, note-shavers, fops, 
and women. I have been puzzling my brain for a 
long time, in the hope of finding out what it was that 
made a particular broker or play-house respectable. 

You shall have, Fritz, the result of my observa- 
tions, though they are by no means definitive, and 



THE RESPECTABLES. 91 

will serve only to show a few modifications of what 
the town, in its wisdom, is pleased to dub — respect- 
able ! Nor will I promise but that these observations 
themselves, shall be very much modified by further 
discoveries. 

My neighbor, the grey-haired lodger above stairs, 
is certainly a most respectable man, though he has 
rarely a sixpence of change about him. He bears, 
so far as I know, a good name ; is regular in his 
habits, and has struck me, notwithstanding a 
greasy coat collar, as the very pink of respectability 
— a sort of standard for the whole class of respect- 
ables. You can judge, then, of my surprise, at 
hearing my landlady say to a grocer's boy, who 
came with a heavy bill for spermaceti, lemons, and 
whiskey, against the tasteful lodger, and who was 
very urgent for the money — ' that the gentleman 
would surely pay — that she had never had a more 
respectable gentleman in her house !' 

But I find that it is not at all necessary to pay 
bills to be respectable ; and have been credibly in- 
formed, that very many men about town — both 
authors and bankrupts — who are never known to 
pay bills, rank as highly respectable. Indeed, on 
asking the other day in regard to the character of 
a defaulting gentleman, I was assured that he was 
eminently respectable. My friend Tophanes informs 
9* 



92 THE LORGNETTE. 

me further, that certain ladies who are remarkable 
for very great eccentricities of dress, as well as 
certain obliquities of conduct, are notwithstanding, 
exceedingly respectable. An opera -singer was 
pointed out to me as being, off the stage, quite 
respectable ; and a preacher, whom it was my fate 
to hear a few Sundays back, was represented to me 
as being, out of the pulpit, every way respectable. 

A journalist who indulges in the most wanton 
caricatures of good sense and decency, is called a, 
respectable man; and a publishing house, which 
supplies the slip-slop literature of the day, is repre- 
sented as a most respectable house. 

I hear in all quarters of respectable boot-makers, 
respectable dancers, respectable ladies, and some- 
times, though more rarely, of respectable doctors, 
and even respectable authors ; and I am only sur- 
prised that the Commissioners of the new code have 
not included respectability in their list of qualifi- 
cations for jurors. So acute a man as Mr. F. 
should have had an eye to this matter. 

In the general way, I find that a black coat a 
little threadbare is a very good type of respecta- 
bility ; but if it have a velvet collar, the matter is 
subject to doubt. A man who comes up from the 
country, and pays his house bill regularly, and who 
does not abuse the pavements, or the papers, may 



THE RESPECTABLES. 93 

pass current as a respectable man for a long period 
of time. My landlady, I found, had recommended 
me to my laundress, as a respectable country gen- 
tleman, of respectable connections. 

A respectable family, as I find, lives in a respect- 
able, small house. — burns small fires, and enjoys 
the acquaintance of a great many respectable peo- 
ple. The master of the household does a small, but 
respectable business ; the wife dresses in very re- 
spectable dark mousseline ; the daughters attend a 
respectable school, and the sons are clerks in a re- 
spectable establishment. Respectable families are 
very apt to give tea-drinkings, where you will find 
a great many respectable old ladies, who sip Bohea 
out of blue and white china — who talk in subdued 
tones about the weather, the fashions, the scandal, 
the respectable books, and the babies, — and who 
discourage hilarity in the younger branches of the 
household, by saying, — ' My dear, it is not respect- 
able.' They have a small library of most re- 
spectable books, such as Pilgrim's Progress, Arthur's 
Tales, Science Made Easy, an odd volume of the 
Arabian Nights, and Headley's Sacred Mountains. 
They, of course, subscribe to so respectable a paper 
as the Commercial Advertiser. They have a most 
respectable w*y of talking, and do not say anything 
of anybody or any subject but what is respectable. 



94 THE LORGNETTE. 

They have a respectable card-basket filled with 
very respectable names ; and having passed many 
respectable evenings at respectable families, I can 
of course, commend them to you, Fritz, when you 
come up to town, as every way respectable. 

The respectable lawyer (there are such) does a 
quiet, counsel business, dresses in prim style, and 
has copies of Chitty, Cowan, Johnson, and a thumb- 
worn 'Acts; 5 — he borrows the New Code, and 
Statutes at large, is Commissioner for Rhode 
Island or Ohio, has a respectable sign at his office 
door, and is known chiefly, if you are particular in 
your inquiries, as a respectable lawyer. If a 
bachelor, he dresses respectably (only respectably), 
lives at a respectable house, — will possibly, in time, 
unless a ne exeat be served, marry some respectable 
woman, — drink respectable sherry to his Sunday's 
dinner, and make out respectable ' writs of deliver- 
ance.' 

The respectable doctor looks very grum at men- 
tion of the Scalpel, but subscribes to the Medico- 
Chirurgical — laughs good-humoredly at Forbes' 
wit — expresses respectable opinions of Brodie and 
Liston — owns a respectably bound copy of Velp- 
eau's Surgery, which he never reads — does a re- 
spectable business — attends service at a respectable 
church (near the door, so that the congregation may 



THE RESPECTABLES. 95 

suppose him to be absent) — wears a wise scowl — ■ 
has one or two respectable criticisms in condemna- 
tion of homeopathy — drives a respectable gig — and 
is known as a respectable practitioner. 

The respectable clergyman preaches respectable 
sermons, adapted chiefly to very respectable people ; 
and he is, unfortunately, but too well satisfied with 
a respectable weekly attendance, and a respectable 
salary; his hearers are, of course, respectable; and 
he leads them at a respectable gait, toward the 
practice of a highly respectable Christianity. 

A respectable author is of somewhat rarer acci- 
dence ; it being generally understood among re- 
spectable people, that all the pith, wit, and point 
which go to make a writer popular, are by no means 
respectable. Dullness may be reckoned eminently 
respectable ; and not a few of the town authors, 
with an eye to this last-named quality, have won 
a reputation for respectability, absolutely gigantic. 
Their works are read by all respectable old ladies, 
and are commended by the New York Express. 
But wo be to the writer, young or old, who thinks 
to tread on the prejudices of respectable society, 
whatever they may be ! "Wo be to him, if he thinks 
to enter any protest against the insipidities and 
hollow affectations of the town-life; or to plead 
with such strength as lies in his tongue or brain 



96 THE LORGNETTE. 

for a little more humanity of purpose — for a level- 
ing of those hideous elevations which pride, or im- 
pudence, or gold, have built up in our most Re- 
publican City. Wo be to him, if he pricks, with a 
sting that punctures, the wind-blown reputations 
that conceit and effrontery have fecundated . Wo 
be to him, if his stylus, sharp as a knife, cuts 
deep into the calf-skin integuments that hold to- 
gether our most worthy life of fashion . Wo be to 
him, if he attempt to lift off from the carcass of the 
body social, those flimsy, patched-up coverlets of 
respectability and propriety, which keep down the 
smell of its corruption ! 

Take breath, my dear Fritz, and we will come 
back to respectable young women. The term does 
not include genteel young women, or fashionable 
young women, nor yet play-actresses — unless, in- 
deed, the united efforts of Mr. Maretzek and a 
prominent journalist, should snatch them from their 
fashionable perdition, and set them in fashionable 
salons. Irish servant maids are, of course, out of the 
question, and much more, those of American birth. 
French governesses and German teachers are always 
eminently respectable. 

Respectable people are remarkably tenacious of 
their dignity ; and they do not think it respectable 
for shabby-looking old ladies, in faded bombazine, 



THE RESPECTABLES. 97 

to be shown into their pews at church ; nor do they 
like to have young women in pea-green silks and 
ancient bonnets, ring at their door-bell. They do 
not like to have a poor, respectable man build on 
the same block where they are living ; they do not 
think it respectable. They are cautious how they 
suffer their respectable boys to play at ' hide and 
go seek 5 with poor respectable boys. Of course, 
they give respectably to public charities, but do not 
like to ask their poor country cousins to dine with 
them, when they expect respectable company; — or 
to church with them, except on rainy Sundays. 

We have seen, you know, Fritz, the best bred 
European ladies dining, and even chatting some- 
what gaily with their bonnes ; but it would quite 
shock the highly respectable women of our Repub- 
lican town, to be seen publicly on any terms of fa- 
miliarity w T ith a dependant ; it would not be re- 
spectable. It is even advisable to close the windows 
of a respectable coach, when the respectable owner 
is riding with her nurse. 

Fashions of dress become respectable for respect- 
able people, only after the milliners and fashionists 
have made them so. The Jagello hat, for instance, 
which we are looking for with intense interest, 
would be sneered at for a month by all respectable 
ladies; after which time of probation, it would be* 



96 THE LORGNETTE 

come, by the ordinary current of the town-life, a 
most respectable hat ; and all the respectable la- 
dies would tie it to their very respectable chins. 
A stage play becomes now and then respectable ; 
and the Serious Family, after stirring into mirth 
the critics and habitues, begins to draw a few re- 
sped able people, who steal in as it were, clandes- 
tinely, in respectable old hats ; after a time, they 
come openly and laugh boldly at Burton, while be- 
tween the acts, they assume a cool air of the high- 
est respectability. 

Ancestry too, comes in for a share of respecta- 
bility, and is, I find, the source of a great supply 
of the staple. If fathers have not been altogether 
respectable, it is well for a respectable young man 
to go back to his grandfather, who, if he turns out 
one of the small fry of honest mechanics, had best 
be docked off the ancestral list, and a trumpery 
story dished up, of old English, or Dutch names, 
and connections. And such story will serve as ad- 
mirable fecund matter for the ingenuity of those 
small artists who draw genealogical trees, and for 
those enterprising foremen of coach painters, and 
card engravers, who contrive coats-of-arms. 

It should be remarked, however, that in adopt- 
ing this course, the parties will overleap the range 
of respectables, and swoop down among genteel 



THE RESPECTABLES. 99 

people, or even among l leaders of the ton.' In- 
deed, for a matron of rather weak wits, who wishes 
to put her boys on an elevated plane — at the very 
top, indeed, of the parabola which Mr. "W. has so 
gracefully cut out of an apple with his pen — it is 
much safer to be genteel, than respectable. 

Respectability is, after all, slightly vulgar, and 
will not cramp inquiry or gossip, one half so well 
as decided gentility. Moreover, gentility, from the 
fact that it is a trifle more exclusive, comes less in 
contact with strong, investigating habits of mind, 
which might, in times of forgetfulness, prove fatal. 
A substantial coach, with the blinds drawn, and a 
magnificent house, very quiet, gloomy, and close, are 
almost impenetrable ; and if the house should be open- 
ed for a ball, why the men are accessible (unless en- 
gaged on church business) who will supply music, 
suppers, crockery, carriages, and company, for a 
respectable commission on the valuation. 

In the rub and jam, nothing will be easier than 
to escape irksome tete-a-tete ; and the little bijou- 
terie, and papier mache ornaments, will establish 
reputation on the score of taste — to say nothing of 
a few well -scattered French novels — De Trobriand's 
Revue, and a well-thumbed Lorgnette. 

Respectable tea-parties, you must observe, are 

subject to quicker scrutiny ; they should by no 
10 



100 THE LORGNETTE, 

means be indulged in, by those who have any 
doubts on the score of their breeding. You may 
take this as an axiom not without its worth : — vul- 
gar people had better not ape respectability ; it is 
safer to be genteel. Or, if I were to put it in the 
form of a syllogism — which, if it were not better 
than the best of Senator Foote's, I should be asham- 
ed to repeat even to myself — it would be thus : — 

Respectability promotes inquiry ; 

Ill-bred people are sensitive to inquiry ; 

Therefore, ill-bred people had best eschew re- 
spectability. 

Please to lodge that middle term, Fritz, in your 
cranium, as another axiom which will prove ex- 
planatory of a great deal of town talk, and action. 

As for Ancestry, I must say no more of it, since 
I am intending to furnish, with the aid of the gray- 
haired lodger, a full chapter upon pedigree ; which, 
when it appears, you may be assured, will be as 
well worth possession by town livers, as the British 
Herd-Book to Durham-Cattle Breeders, or the Turf 
Register to cockney sportsmen. 

Town respectability may be summed up, as a 
tort of emasculated honesty. It is a kind of decent 
drapery, which society purloins from what Burke 
calls, \ the wardrobe of the moral imagination,' to 
cover the shivering defects of poor human nature, 



THE OLD BEAUX. 101 

If you can say nothing good of your friend, at least, 
— call him respectable. If your neighbor has de- 
frauded the business community , time and again, 
and yet lives in the best of style, prospering in a 
new commerce of coffee or cotton, — call him re- 
spectable. If a lady has forgotten herself, her duty, 
or her husband, she can creep under this elastic 
screen of respectability. If a clergyman preaches 
doubtful sermons, or practices doubtful sins, — dub 
him respectable. If you are caught chatting famil- 
iarly with your coachman, or your tailor, you have 
only to say — they are respectable. If your news- 
paper is dull and prosy, and given to long, tedious 
twaddle, — it is, at least, highly respectable. There 
is no vitality, no earnestness, and no independ- 
ence in town respectability. There are plenty 
of respectable politicians, respectable writers, and 
respectable women ; but I never heard of a respect- 
able hero, a respectable Christian, or a respectable 
philanthropist. 

i 

OLD BEAUX. 

" He has an excellent faculty of bemoaning the people, and spits with 
a very good grace. He will not draw his handkercher out of his place, 
nor blow his nose, without discretion." — Bishop Earle. 

I now and then meet, dear Fritz, with some old 
vestiges of the beau-craft, which existed twenty years 
ago. They were nearly my contemporaries, it is 



102 THE LORGNETTE. 

true, but they have much the advantage of me in 
having kept up an acquaintance with the beau 
monde of the town, while I have been wandering, 
— Heaven knows where. They are quite curious 
specimens of our kind, and are deserving of one of 
those accurate observations, which my lorgnette is 
sure to furnish. 

With no great physical attractions, they yet 
dress in the top style ; — perhaps sport a beard, or 
imperial, or both, to conceal the lines which age 
has wrought in their chins. They use the best 
pomades on the town, and are capital authorities 
for whoever is on the look-out for a good tailor, boot- 
maker, or barber. They sneer, of course, at what 
they call the frippery of the day, and are particu- 
lar in their attentions to very young ladies. They 
are usually club-men, and assume a sort of dignity 
and importance in the reading-room and restaurant, 
which is graciously accorded them. They play a 
good hand of whist, at a quarter the corner, with 
some old-fashioned observances in the game, which 
would not have done discredit to Mrs. Battle. 
They take, too, a quiet pleasure in an occasional 
half hour at ' old sledge.' 

They make excellent diners-out, and are sure to 
fish up an invitation or two a week, from some of 
their former companions, who have now homes of 



THE OLD BEAUX. 103 

their own. They take the liberty of cracking very 
bold jokes with their friends' wives ; and are partial 
to ' old particular' Madeira. They, of course, are 
full of anecdotes, more especially of that equivo- 
cal sort, which follows the retirement of the ladies, 
and which, for one hearing, are quite passable. 
They are full of wise saws about government and 
'society ; and are exceedingly violent in their ridi- 
cule of the parvenus of the day. Though they are 
not partial to parties, — most of them having become 
slightly rheumatic, — they pay evening calls, and 
are particularly earnest in their movements among 
the boxes at the Opera House. 

They are great admirers of beauty, — make fre- 
quent mention of the favors they have received 
from certain ladies, 'they would not like to name,' 
and are particularly delighted when they are ac- 
cused in private conversation, of being i dangerous 
dogs.' They talk of marriage as if every lady of 
the town was on the qui vive to possess them, and 
as if they had still fair prospects of a numerous 
and stalwart progeny. They are great favorites at 
tea-parties, where spinsters congregate, and can 
handle a pair of sugar-tongs as daintily as their 
own legs. They are dabsters at a compliment ; 
and some few of a literary turn, have been known 
on special occasions to make sonnets, scarce infe- 
10* 



104 THE LORGNETTE. 

rior to those of Mr. Benjamin. They have no 
charity for the small fry of authorlings, which 
swarm upon the town ; and abuse them all in round 
style. 

They know, of coarse, nearly all the world, and 
sneer very confidently at the few whom they do not 
know. They talk in a familiar strain with clergy- 
men and editors of popular journals ; and they cul- 
tivate a certain indifference and carelessness of 
manner in the bar-rooms, and in the street, which 
is quite remarkable. Nothing disturbs them more 
than to fall in with a really earnest man, who is 
disposed by his talk to prick them out of their leth- 
argic state, and to try the metal of their old coin of 
opinion ; they have no means of dealing with such a 
fellow, but to condemn him as a flippant coxcomb. 
They affect an uncommon knowledge of French, 
and of all the finer accomplishments ; they are quick 
to detect, what they reckon breaches of etiquette, 
and are precise — even to pocketing a dry crust at 
table, to clean their white gloves for an evening. 

They manage to get an introduction to most of 
the reigning belles, and talk much about them, 
though they know very little. They call themselves 
connoisseurs in brandy and paintings; and have 
a peculiarly sweet tooth for French entremets ; and 
such as have an unpronounceable name, they think 



■- ,/ "'^r> *£j 




Sw 1 



if 



THE TOWN BEAU. 



THE OLD BEAUX. 105 

very fine. They wear a heavy signet ring, and cul- 
tivate a delectable familiarity with house-maids, 
and opera-singers. They assume a very patroni- 
zing way with the daughters of their old friends, — 
call them by their first names, — will sometimes 
venture a kiss, — write them valentines, and give 
them small presents of bijouterie. 

They pride themselves hugely on a handsome 
foot, a genteel figure, or a very bushy beard; and 
express plaintive regrets for the great number of 
young women whom they have unsuspectingly 
made unhappy. They are fond of showing their 
friends little billets, directed in a very delicate 
hand -writing, and though they do not exhibit their 
contents, they wink in a way that makes one sym- 
pathize deeply with the unfortunate victims of their 
address, and agreeable qualities. They have a 
carefully cultivated laugh, and if their teeth re- 
main sound, it is open-mouthed. They are of 
course very jocular and gay-humored, and are 
careful to conceal their occasional sighs ; they do 
not like to read very fine print. They write very 
delicate notes of acceptance to evening entertain- 
ments and dinner parties, and seal with a very 
large private seal. They commit to memory the 
best portions of the musical critiques in the news- 
papers, and yet sneer at the critics as poor starve 



i06 THE LORGNETTE. 

ling vagabonds ; they adopt the editorials of the 
Journal of Commerce on matters of trade, and yet 
turn up their noses at the opinions of the press. 

As for profession, they are very likely (living on 
a snug two thousand a year) above that sort oi 
thing ; or perhaps, are plethoric bill-brokers, or 
silent partners in a jobbing concern, or small law- 
yers with a great many trusteeships in their hands, 
or doctors who visit respectable old dowagers, that 
have been lingering under hypochondriasis for an 
indefinite period of time. 

And one of these very old beaux will read the 
Lorgnette over his cigar at the Club-house — his 
remainder bottle of port at his side, — his head in- 
clining back, — his varnished boots upon a chair, 
and with the most self-satisfied air in the world 
wall condemn the writer to perdition as an arrant 
literary coxcomb ; — never once imagining that 
John Timon is perhaps his senior by half a score, 
that he has helped him out of innumerable scrapes, 
and has very possibly seen as much of the world 
about us, as he or any of his fraternity. 

Pray take it kindly, old fellow ; don't let your 
asthma or weakness in the joints annoy you too 
much ; semel senescimus omnes. 

There are old belles, too, my dear Fritz, who are 
biding their time ; and when the humor is upon 



CORRESPONDKNCE. 107 

me, you shall have their portraits, even to the coloi 
of their eyes, and of their stockings. 

CORRESPONDENCE . 
I shall publish without any prefatory remarks, 
the following letter from a lady : if I might, how- 
ever, be permitted to judge from a certain graceful- 
ness of expression, and an indescribable under-lying 
of the savoir-faire , I should say that it came, not 
only from the hands of an accomplished lady, but 
from one who is perfectly familiar with the impro- 
prieties of the town. 

My Dear Mr. Timon: 

It has been hinted to me that you are an old 
friend of my former husband ; if you are, I wish you 
would do me the favor to call ; any little remem- 
brances of the dear, good man are most satisfying. 
I want to tell you, too, how much I approve your 
work ; your judicious remarks upon taste, I cannot 
praise high enough. I have long felt the want of 
just such a book as you propose. As for the polka, 
you've said just what you ought to say ; it's a pos- 
itive shame, the way our young folks do go on in 
these matters ! Only to think that my little cousin 
Polly went so far the other evening as to lay her 
head outright on a gentleman's shoulder, out of 



108 THE LORGNETTE. 

sheer exhaustion ; why, Sir, it made all the blood 
boil in my body ! 

I've talked with my clergyman about it, a dear, 
good man, (are you a clergyman?) who makes long 
parochial calls. He says it's 'an abomination,' and 
he quoted a passage from scripture, but I have for- 
gotten it. 

I wish you'd say something about the way some 
people hold up their clothes at the street-crossings ; 
its growing worse and worse ; and I see they are 
beginning to trim off their drawers with delicate 
lace edgings, — as if such things were expected to be 
looked at, except by the chaste eyes of servant 
maids, and little poodles. 

Do goon, Mr. Timon — you seem to me to be a 
sober, rational minded old gentleman ; and since 
my dear husband's death, I have met with very few 
of that sort. 

Respectfully, 

Dorothea. 

P. S3. — If you wish, I can give you my address. 



Another letter which has come to hand, as my 
paper is going to press, appears to be from a 
vivacious young lady, of quick parts. She writes : 



CORRESPONDENCE. 109 

Dear Mr. Timon : 

I wish you would let me know who you are : — 
do ; I think I could give you some capital hints ; you 
know a lady knows a great deal that a gentleman 
never can know, try as hard as he may. Besides, 
I should like amazingly to dance a polka with you ; 
I know from the way you write about it, that you 
must understand it a great deal better than the 
fussy little fellows who almost pull me over, and 
havn't got an idea of the spirit of the thing. A 
lady want's some sort of support, — doesn't she? I 
think you could give it, and not be pushing one 
about against the wall-flowers, and getting dizzy 
and stupid. 

I and my cousin go to nearly all the balls ; and 
though there won't be any but Presbyterian ones, 
now that Lent has come in, still I know some real 
gay blues, who dance as mad as any Episcopa- 
lians. I'll introduce you, and we'll have some cap- 
ital times. 

I've got an aunt, who says such witty things ! 
Do let me know who you are. I'm not a bit afraid 
to send you my address ; wont you call in the morn- 
ing? There are a half dozen fellows from the New 
York Club, that come in every evening. I want to 
tell you something about them ; they do say such 
stupid things ! 



MO THE LORGNETTE . 

Do you visit Madame T ? Try to. It's a de- 
lightful place ; — such splendid oyster suppers ! T 
don't care if you print this ; only if you do, punc- 
tuate it, and correct the spelling. I'm so familiar 
with French, that I misspell my English half the 
time. Don't talk hard about the Home Journal ; 
it's a love of a paper ! I've written a letter for it 
that's going to be published by-and-by. 

Yours, affectionately, 

Lucia. 

I am most sorry to be compelled to withdraw 
my claim to Lucia's acquaintance. I am sure she 
must be a love of a girl ; but Tophanes is her man, 
and I shall hand over to him the necessary docu- 
ments. Nothing makes me regret my age and 
baldness so much as these little kind testimonials, 
from genteel young women. Still, Fritz, we can 
be young on paper; — and so, thank God, I will be 
young ! and my pen shall dance its weekly fandan- 
go, as lively as the liveliest of the polka striplings, 
« — though the rheumatics are warping my shoulder- 
blades, and age is wintering my beard with gray. 

Timon. 




FEB, £8 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 6 



Ne demandez pas de quelle complexion il est, mais quelles sont sea 
complexions ; ni de quelle humeur, mais combien il a de sortes d'hu- 
meurs. Ne vous troinpez-vous point 1—La Bruyere, 

Pardon me, Fritz, if over your shoulder, and by 
a few taps upon the tympanum of your most friend- 
ly ear, I pass an explanatory word or two, for the 
digestion of our cormorant public. It would seem 
that I have been set down by not a few newspaper 
critics, gossiping ladies, and by some respectable 
book-sellers, (for whom I ought to say in way of 
apology, that they rarely read the books they sell,) 
as a caterer to the tastes of those who are facetious- 
ly termed by the Sunday Journals, and oyster-cel- 
iar men — ' the upper Ten Thousand.' Now as I 
11 



112 THE LORGNETTE. 

have no particular desire of being mobbed, or burn- 
ed in effigy, and stiil less of being reckoned the pli- 
ant toady to any scale or degree of social eminence, 
I most respectfully decline the acknowledgment of 
an)" imputation of this kind. And although I by no 
means profess fraternization with those very earnest 
paragraphists who rail at the people ' above Bleeck- 
er,' as if they were altogether destitute of those 
human sympathies, which a kind Providence has 
mercifully vouchsafed to people in other parts of the 
town, (particularly Nassau Street, and Centre,) — 
and while I cannot avow an entire coincidence of 
opinion with the abettors of any Astor Place mob, 
or haters of Macready, or Forrest worshipers ; — 
and though I do not feel at liberty to subscribe to 
all the pleasant inuendos which come from the lips 
of my neighbor the tasteful lodger, about the equi- 
pages sometimes seen in Leonard Street, and the 
coupes with closed windows, and the ball-room in- 
trigues, — yet, Heaven forbid that Mr. Crowen, or 
any of his fashionable customers, from the subscri- 
bers to the Home Journal downward, should reck- 
on me the mere caterer to the appetites of those 
only who are rich, or — even worse — those who 
would seem to be rich. 

A rough-and-tumble observation of a great many 
phases of life, both in the Old World and the New, 



THE AUTHOR'S PURPOSE 113 

has taught me, that sincerity and worth are not 
confined to any particular station of society ; — that 
modesty and purity are sometimes struggling un- 
der the motherly-imposed haberdashery of a belle; 
and that inordinate vanity, and a hankering after the 
lusts of the flesh, are occasionally tossing under the 
tawdriest ribbons that come from the Canal Street 
shops. 

But poverty I find to be the same unfortunate bed- 
fellow here, that it is in every quarter of the world 
— Monsieur Cabet's Icaria (which I have not yet 
had the good fortune to visit, save in the columns 
of the Tribune) alone excepted. Town poverty has 
at command but very indifferent means of conceal- 
ing the vices which attach to it ; — thus the poor 
buck from Greenwich Street, or the critical chair 
of the smaller newspapers, living on forty dollars 
a month, who swaggers upon Broadway of a Sun- 
day afternoon with a poor cigar, and one glove, will 
be the mark for abundance of most friendly sneers 
from the Christian people who live along the way ; 
and yet your pretentious man who pulls on his 
couleur de paille kids, upon the steps of the New 
York Club, — who sports a well-stitched palletot, and 
very square-brimmed hat, — who scents Julien's 
dinners, or the bouquet of mock Chambertin, as 
fondly, and yet as ignorantly, as his compeer does 



114 THE LORGNETTE. 

the Ann Street stews, or Albany beer, will not 
only escape the odium of condemnation, but 
will be counted a miracle of a man, by hosts of 
young ladies at the front parlor windows ; — not that 
the ladies are looking out ; on the contrary, they 
are very intent upon their reading, or with kissing 
the baby, and of course very unconscious that any 
such gentleman, in stitched palletot, is any where 
to be seen. 

Now what the distinction is between these two, 
in purpose, dignity, or humanity — that one should 
be the object of adulation, and the other of sneers — 
I think it would puzzle a nicer inquirer than Mr. 
Calhoun to determine. Even in the matter of 
taste, which in a highly adulterated state, is the 
pabulum on which those disposed to fashionable 
display inordinately feed — the advantage may lie 
largely on the side of the Greenwich aspirant ; and 
this, notwithstanding his risral of the Club shall 
have consulted incontinently the plates of La 
Belle Asse?nblee. 

So, too, a rich Cashmere, and Miss Lawson's 
toggery of wadding, wreaths, and lacings, will not 
only make a crooked form straight, a blanched 
forehead ruddy, and restore fullness to the withered 
hulk of six-and-thirty, but they will marvelously 
deaden searching inquiry, and blunt the eyesight 



HIS POSITION DEFINED. 115 

of popular sagacity. A poor girl who scrimps the 
frugal meal of a mother, that she may gratify her 
woman's vanity with a flimsy mantilla, or a faded 
hat ribbon, is smiled sourly upon as a worthless, 
heartless creature; yet the ladies of ton, squandering 
thousands upon equipage and laces, deaf to the low 
cries of a hundred mothers, going supperless each 
night to their straw pallets, — are elegant fashiona- 
bles, — most generous lady patronesses of the 
Opera, — most worthy pew-holders, — most com- 
mendable Christians ! 

If, then, my observation should seem to confine 
itself to that class of society whose position ought 
to render it independent in action, and unimpeach- 
able in character, it is not surely in view of making 
personal interest, for access to our Almack's, or to 
tickle a vanity which needs no delicate touches of 
a quill feather to be enlivened ; or even were it 
otherwise, enough of the town litterateurs are en- 
gaged in the pursuit already ; and I will do them 
the credit of saying, that their adroitness is only 
less commendable than their successes. 

The Lorgnette adapts itself, then, to what the 
booksellers may call, if they please, the higher 
circles, only because the lower ones have less need 
of the exposition intended. The follies of the latter 
are bald and palpable, while those of higher life 
11* 



116 THE LORGNETTE. 

need closer examination, — nay, they would at first 
sight pass for real beauties ; but the lorgnette, 
properly directed, will expose — what touches oi 
carmine, — what dust of pearl powder, — what 
shaven foreheads, — what ugly wig seams ! How 
many follies need only a gilding to vanish ; how 
many vices need only the covering of luxury to 
disappear ! 

When, therefore, Mr. Crowen, or my worthy 
publisher, think fit to announce to their customers, 
that the Lorgnette confines itself to glimpses in 
high life, let them be fairly understood ; let it be 
fully known that it is from no lack of earnest Re- 
publican intent, and from no desire to foster the 
prejudices of a self-constituted, prurient town aris- 
tocracy. In the honesty of a straightforward, 
country purpose, John Timon begs leave, not in- 
solently, nor ill-naturedly, but firmly, and good- 
humoredly, to lay his pen upon such social sinnings 
of the hour, as seem to him worth the ink-lines of 
demarkation ; and in the full knowledge, intuitively 
gained, and dearly cherished, that very many of 
those whose wealth and position are pre-eminent, 
will thank a stranger for speaking plainly of foibles, 
which they acknowledge, discard, and deplore. 

And now, Fritz, having laid the matter straight 
between our obliging booksellers and the public, 
let us ccme back to our moutons. 



THE LIONS. 117 

LIONS. 
" Veniunt spectentur ut ipsao." — Ovid 

Lions, my dear Fritz, are not confined to the 
Jar din des Plantes, to the Regent's Park, to 
"Welch's Circus, or to Timbuctoo. They are bred, 
it appears, in our town, and of such marvelous 
thrift are they upon the diet, which this climate and 
pasturage affords, that they will roar you, l as 
'twere a nightingale,' or as stoutly as any Joiner of 
the Night's Dream. We have, too, our allotment 
of dear good Mrs. Leo Hunters, who are on the 
search for the little cablings as soon as they are born ; 
and if so be they can roar, though only so much 
i as a sucking dove,' they will be fondled and 
nursed more daintily by them, than ever the 
sinning Ephesians by the old three-breasted Diana. 

These zoologic patronesses are not only mighty 
quick of ear, but they have also a most delicate 
sense of smell ; and they will scent you a young 
lion by the mere perfume of his mane, though his 
voice is capable of only the most incipient roar. 
They will feed him on such dainty food, and so 
tickle him in the throat and haunches, that presently 
he will roar, ' as would do a man's heart good to 
hear.' Thenceforth, he will be a caged animal, with 



118 THE LORGNETTE. 

his hours for feed, and his hours for relaxation, and 
be as regularly stirred up for the admiration of 
curious spectators, as the old Bengal Tiger at the 
Surrey Gardens. 

These lions are not only highly useful in offering 
subjects for zoologic study to the common people, 
and in affording agreeable diversion to children, but 
they are of signal service, and I think I may add, 
highly profitable, to their zealous and sagacious 
captors. The methods of capture are numerous, 
and adapted to the size, strength, and habits of the 
animal. A well-roasted haunch of venison is con- 
sidered very capital bait for full-grown lions, 
whereas whip syllabubs, and even water-ices, are 
used with great success, as decoys for the younger 
animals. Some few well-known lion-takers are 
so sagacious in laying their bait, that a strange 
lion can scarce venture within the town, but he is 
at once taken in their toils. 

It is almost needless to say, after so much has 
been written upon the subject by Buffon and others, 
that the lion is the king of beasts ; but I may safely 
add, what has escaped the notice of nearly all the 
writers upon Natural History, that the lion is a 
fashionable animal. 

Indeed, there is scarce a lady of i parts' in the town, 
who maintains an elevated position, — who is, in fact, 



THE LIONS. 119 

a ' leader of the ton,' but has her bevy of lions, of 
different degrees of age, virility, and tameness. 
Some of these are so gentle that they can be 
safely led about, even in public places, without 
danger to the bystanders. Others are reserved for 
the salon — or, as I should say, keeping up the 
zoologic illusion — for the cages, — having a large 
run, but under cover. Here they are made to roar, 
by being fed or tickled. Others again are never 
dealt with, but on special occasions, being irascible 
in their nature, and at times somewhat dangerous. 
They roar only as the humor takes them, and have 
been known to show their teeth even to their captors. 
They are, however, somewhat rare ; but are in great 
demand, and much sought after by connoisseurs. 
Lions, of course, differ in breed ; some being of the 
royal stock — true Afric ; and others of so diminutive 
a make, that those who are knowing in the matter, 
hint at the probability of there having been some- 
time a cross with the jackal. 

The greater part of the town-lions are brought 
into the world under favor of the professional 
servioes of the gossiping journals ; the Express 
newspaper is specially to be commended in this 
matter, and its delicate manoeuvring would scarce 
do discredit to the best Sage-femme of the quarter 
of St. Antoine. 



120 THE LORGNETTE. 

"When fairly born, they are handed over to a 
standard corps of wet-nurses in the shape of penny- 
a-liners, and Mrs. Leo Hunters, who feed them on 
pap and such like dainties, as I have already stat- 
ed, until they gain their full strength. Too 
strong food at an early stage is hazardous, and in 
some instances has produced a constriction that 
has carried off the young lions in a stage of tender 
infancy. Great numbers, too, of such as have en- 
joyed the over-nursing of the Home Journal, and 
the Literary World, have died from sheer surfeit ; 
and yet others, who have been fondled in the arms 
of the old gossiping Lady, late of Broadway and 
now of Wall Street, have lingered only a short fe- 
verish existence — attributable, no doubt, to the 
crude and weakly nature of the pap. 

Lions, as I have already told you, are of numerous 
sorts; — there are the musical lions, the literary 
lions, the critical lions, the political lions, the fash- 
ionable lions, the conversational lions, the play- 
house lions, and the lions extraordinary. 

Tophanes, who (I may as well say it) has been 
in his day a fashionable Hon, has supplied me with 
a little epitome of their successive stages of growth ; 
and I shall select from it such examples as seem 
suited to my purpose, at the same time adding 
largely from my own observation. 



THE MUSICAL LIONS. 121 

The musical lion, for instance, he tells me, if 
intended for public exhibition, must have a rhyth- 
mical foreign name, and be announced in the jour- 
nals as the distinguished performer, who has re- 
peatedly delighted all the members of the first Eu- 
ropean Courts, (I pray your particular attention, 
Fritz, to that word Courts, which has an uncommon- 
ly happy odor for all the lion hunters of the town.) 

He must next have a private trial in a public 
room, possibly of the Astor, or Irving, — having pre- 
viously invited the critics, who are spare, hungry 
dogs, to dine with him. This exhibition is herald- 
ed next day as one eminently successful, and as 
having given unfeigned satisfaction to a distin- 
guished circle of unprejudiced gentlemen and la- 
dies, of the highest critical taste. 

The critics are honored with season tickets ; the 
journals, (such as do the advertising,) are profuse 
of praises, and the Mrs. Leo Hunters are wide 
awake to secure a capture. He becomes a lion in 
the papers, is applauded at the concerts, is invited 
to a soiree at the house of a ' leader of the ton,' and 
repays the condescension of the elite, with a song, 
or a dexterous dab at his fiddle. 

He has only now to manifest a proper insouci- 
ance, wear white gloves, and tolerably clean linen, 
to remain for his month the musical lion. Or if 



122 THE LORGNETTE. 

he fails in circles strictly fashionable, he can cut 
off his beard, and try his hand in moderate Pres- 
byterian, or Baptist circles, where by cool, and as- 
siduous attention, and naive repetition of fashion- 
able scandal, he may have a fair chance of renewing 
his age of heroism. 

The private musical lion gains his degree without 
any newspaper noise. He is talked of in very ex- 
travagant style by the young lady who sings duetts 
with him ; he volunteers (by request) his aid at an 
amateur concert ; and if he be really deserving in 
voice, or execution, or possess any special attrac- 
tions, or even pleasant eccentricities, he will be 
pounced upon by some watchful old lady hunter, 
who is needful of just such advantageous commo- 
dity to give a ' pleasing variety to her receptions.' 
He is petted, invited earnestly to come and pass 
an evening — sometimes (but more rarely) asked to 
dine — is talked of — wearies his lungs with constant 
effort, — is entreated to favor that charming 
young lady with the love chanson, — is assured that 
his voice is absolutely bewitching, — is urged to sing 
a duett with the lady in pink, — can of course make 
no refusal to the deaf old lady, who has been shed- 
ding tears — would ' exceedingly gratify a distin- 
guished amateur' by repeating that passage from 
the Puritani — in short, he finds himself unsuspect- 



THE FASHIONABLE LIONS. 123 

ingly, become the property of the lion-hunting 
town. 

As for Jenny Lind, — whose name has been, I do 
not doubt, bobbing in the reader's thought ever since 
he commenced the reading of this musical topic, — 
there is no estimating the height to which the 
Lind fever will run, by the time of her landing on 
this island. Already the shirt-makers are adver- 
tising Jenny Lind Kirtles, and we shall soon have 
Jenny Lind ties, stomachers, and cuffs. Blue eyes 
and light hair are more than ever rejoiced in ; we 
shall have before the summer is over a whole army 
of Jenny Lind babies ; and the nurses will take 
good care to pinch the noses of the young bawl- 
ers into the Jenny Lind shape. 

As for the gentlemen, Mr. Barnum will be able 
to double his Tom Thumb fortune, by selling them 
scraps of Jenny's old shoes for love charms ; and 
if Mr. B. is properly grateful for this suggestion, I 
shall expect a generous heel-tap from him, on my 
own score. 

Fashionable lions are to be found in plenty • 
they are those you will read of, Fritz, in your fash- 
ionable weekly, as 'leaders of the ton,' 'distin- 
guished patrons of the Opera,' eminent foreigners, 
or French or Italian noblemen. They are of course 
cordially hated by all shabby genteel people, and 
12 



KM THE LORGNETTE. 

are treated with marked indifference at the hands 
of such as, by sensible conduct, and independent 
action, are placed beyond the need of any lion fa- 
vors. These lions, however, are in great demand, 
and have been the making of a great many unfor- 
tunate belles, and witless coxcombs. They are 
not supposed to be engaged in any other pursuit, 
than simple study of the savoir-faire, or what 
amounts to much the same thing, the far niente. If, 
however, they lend their faculties to verse, music, 
or painting, it is understood to be only in the form 
of accomplishment — an accomplishment which, 
however doubtful in its merit, will be sure to bring 
down a great clatter of golden, and most disinter- 
ested praises from all whose position is uncertain. 

If housekeepers, these lions live in fashionable 
streets, and keep fashionable hours. They will 
not be guilty of any such stupidity as allowing an 
Irish servant maid to attend the door-bell : they 
will insist on reception-days, — first, because it 
gives opportunity to shine in their own sphere, be- 
fore numerous admirers ; and next, because they 
may be sure of having their chair in the best pos- 
sible light — the stupid books all out of sight, the 
little poodle in a clean ribbon, and their man Fid- 
kins in his best white gloves ; — and there will be no 
possible chance of their being mortified by the 



THE FASHIONABLE LIONS. 125 

stupid Irish nurse rushing down stairs, with the 
baby in her arms, to see who is calling — simply 
because on that day the key is turned upon the 
nursery door. 

Their topics are fashionable topics : the Hague 
street matter is commented on in a sad, sad way, 
very much as fashionable clergymen talk of the 
destitute heathen of Polynesia. They never walk 
Broadway at unfashionable hours ; and the color 
of their equipage will give the cue to a large pjr- 
tion of the equipage-driving town. A hint in the 
Paris correspondence of the Courrier, as translated 
by an eminent Journalist, will lead to the selling 
of their bays, and the spanning together of black 
and gray. A marriage will be negotiated in the 
best Paris style ; and it will be announced by an 
amiable penny-a-liner, who has been kindly smug- 
gled into their punch-room, on a reception-day, as 
a high-life marriage, in w T hich the beauty and 
grace of the young bride was only equaled by the 
elegance, and fashionable contour of the distin- 
guished and fortunate bridegroom. 

It should be said, however, in justice to the 
class, that no lions are more innocent than fashion- 
able lions ; they are not ill-tempered, or savage ; 
they are the most good-natured lions that can pos- 



126 THE LORGNETTE. 

sibly be imagined ; their roar would never ' fright- 
en the Duchess.' 

As much, however, cannot be said of the critica* 
lion ; he is a useful attache to old ladies, to the 
editorial corps, and young author lings. He sneers 
at mere literary lions, and boasts of having 
given them their rank ; he is cheek by jowl with 
the publishers, and is perfectly au courant of all 
that is transpiring in the literary world. 

He dashes out opinions upon pictures, statuary, 
and music, as freely as upon books ; — pushes his 
name liberally into print, and wears an air of such 
recondite observation as astonishes and perplexes 
young authors and school-girls. He mixes his 
pills of praise with such chemical tact, that a little 
irritant will go down with the lump, — just enough 
to inflame the mucous membrane of the vanity, 
which lines the whole stomach of an author, — and 
so, keeps the poor dog mindful of the power and 
agency of the druggist. 

He is of course familiarly acquainted with every- 
body who is worth knowing, and is on terms of in- 
timacy with vast numbers of extraordinary men. 
He assumes an air of high dignity at small literary 
soirees, is very patronizing toward young authors 
who are beginning to be talked about, and will 



THE CRITICAL LIONS 127 

even condescend to dine with them (at their ex- 
pense). He affects something of a foreign air, and 
may perhaps boast, though it be only through books, 
of foreign cultivation. 

He is coy of commending American success, 
whether in music or letters, simply because his 
much boasted principles of taste are not inherent 
and sound ; and because he trembles greatly lest 
their suggestions should carry him counter to the 
courtly charts of foreign importation. Thus 
while he professes himself a patron, he is in fact 
the worst enemy to true republican endeavor. 

It is this, my dear Fritz, that I want most to 
stigmatize — this coy-stepping, fearful, England- 
worshiping spirit of American criticism. It is a 
base habit of measuring everything by the standards 
of the old world, — which may be great, indeed, but 
great only by their association with the old world 
fallacies. In taste, in ease, in grace, in a cultivated 
idlesse, and in all the appliances which go to make 
life an amusement, and not a peril and a work, I 
grant you, Messieurs critics, thatthe old world leads 
us, by very much ; yet surely therein lies no reason 
for relaxing the effort to create in our social life, our 
literary opinions, and our more earnest action, an in- 
dependence of things European. Are we not, under 

God, the administrators of a grand political, and 
12* 



128 THE LORGNETTE. 

even social experiment ; and shall we not have pride 
enough to reckon successes by their agreement 
with the great principles of freedom and equality — 
of manly dignity, and individual earnestness, — 
rather than the factitious standards which belong 
to an older, and what we righteously deem a false 
system of polity ? Let us not bow down to courts, 
though we have warmed our vanities in their 
blaze ; and let us not bespeak courtly sanction, 
though it rise like sweet incense in our nostrils. 
When shall we cease to be provincial in our tastes 
and judgments, and begin to be American, and 
earnest ? 

But — revenons a nos lions. 

The literary lion is of somewhat casual and acci- 
dental celebrity ; a few, indeed, of large growth, are 
much in request, and will command, at all times, 
very full salons. The growth of the lesser ones is 
something curious in its way, and worthy to be 
set before you, Fritz. 

The prospective lion must be supposed to have 
written a book, or perhaps to have edited a book, or 
if not this, at the very least, — to have written a 
preface for a book. He must bespeak early the 
friendly services of those sly old paragraphists who 
live in remote corners of the town, and who are em- 
ployed for a ' reasonable' compensation, as supernu- 



THE LITERARY LIONS. 129 

meraries in the offices of the journals. He will expect 
this in most instances, by sending a copy of the 
new book to the old gentleman, ' with the kind 
regards of his unknown, and humble friend, the 
author.' 

Upon this, spliced with a mug of punch and a 
cigar, the young lion may count upon a compliment- 
ary line or two, which his private friends, if 
properly advised, will be studious to promulgate in 
every possible way. A huge placard bearing the 
title of the book, and the name of the new author, 
will be hung in a prominent place at the shop doors. 
His literary friend whom he has invited to dine, 
and whom he has pushed into remarkable good 
humor, with a bottle of Heidsieck, writes a cap- 
tivating little paragraph for a prominent journal, — 
naively wondering who this new and rising author 
can be, and intimating in a most delicate, and 
scarce perceptible way, that he has a brilliant career 
of prosperity, and heroism fairly dawned upon him. 

The Mrs. Leo Hunters are now fairly put upon 
the scent, and address rose-colored notes to dis- 
tinguished editors, asking the pleasure of their 
company, and begging that they will introduce to 
them the new author who has been so highly com- 
fliended. The new author has now only l to help 
himself.' and without further effort becomes enrolled 



130 THE LORGNETTE. 

upon the zoologic list. He is presented as the 
writer of that i charming book/ and our lady- 
patroness has a prettily-contrived compliment in 
store for the gentleman who has ' beguiled so 
sweetly her hours of ennui !' 

The lion, at this early stage, should not forget 
how to blush ; indeed, it would be well to — positively 
blush, — bow, — be very glad, — be very sorry it is 
no better, — regret that it was carelessly written, — 
express boldly the opinion that it was not intended 
for publication, — disclaim the distinction of author- 
ship, &c, &c. 

At all which the lady patroness will rally him with 
very tender and approving smiles ; and introduces 
him successively to Mrs. Mulkins, who is a charm- 
ing old lady, of extraordinary literary taste ; to Miss 
Bidkins, a poetess of very great grace ; to a green- 
spectacled old gentleman, who looks very astute, 
and says very cutting things, in order to inspire 
the young lion with a proper degree of awe ; — to a 
distinguished foreigner, who is bien charme to 
make the acquaintance of the author of — (he for- 
gets — ne se souvient pas de nom, for which he asks 
a thousand pardons) ; — to a lovely little girl, who 
looks languishingly at our author's moustache, if 
he has one, or his eyebrow, if he is without ; and 
lastly to a decayed spinster or two, who express 



THE LITERARY LIONS. 151 

themselves very extravagantly in admiration of his 
work, and go on to quote some lines from Lord 
Byron, which of course the young author is very 
familiar with. 

The lions of a month or two longer standing, will 
meet him with a little hauteur, which by degrees 
will wear off into an eminently patronizing manner. 
Miss Sibdilkins will beg the honor of his company 
on a certain evening, that she may introduce 
him to an eligible young lady, who has been in 
raptures with his book. 

Corner conversations of very young ladies will 
centre very naturally on the new lion ; and though 
I can hardly hope to throw the grace of their lively 
bon mots into my serious page, yet, Fritz, you shall 
be tempted with an echo. 

" Isn't he handsome ?" says one. 
" Not handsome, but then so intellectual! I 
wonder if he is married ?" 
" No, they say not." 
What a forehead !" 

Yes, and lip !" 

; And such eyes !" 

: And then his nose !" 

: Yes, and his chin I" 

: And such a dear moustache ! w 



132 THE LORGNETTE. 

" And what dear stories he tells about those Afri- 
can girls !" 

And those naked Islanders !" 

That sweet little Alice !" 

And those grisettes !" 

And those Spanish ladies !" 

How they must have been in love with him !' 

"I shouldn't wonder; but do you know they 
say" (and she whispers something about dissi- 
pation — wild fellow — at which they put their hand- 
kerchiefs to their faces, and turn their eyes up to 
the ceiling.) 

•'Oh, I don't believe it," says one. 

" Besides so far away," says another. 

" I wish I knew him ; will you introduce me ?" 

" Yes ; but then — you know — that dear Strin- 
kiski — you promised to present him." 

On a moderate computation, Fritz, I am assured 
that the number of literary lions reaches five or 
six a season ; after which period of zoologic emi- 
nence, the greater portion sink into comparative 
obscurity, and sustain a miserable and precarious 
existence between newspaper paragraphs and tail- 
ors' bills, 

A most abominable feud exists^ as I am told, 
among all classes of these lions, and I am crodibly 



THE LIONS. 133 

informed that there is not so much as a pair of 
them, who are not pawing, and roaring at each 
other. They seem to delight in pulling out each 
other's manes ; and as for anything like literary 
amity, or cohesion, they are as far removod from 
it, as from an International Copyright, or from any 
really manly effort to better the condition of their 
craft. 

Even now T have given you no sketch of the 
more prominent literary lions, and have not even 
touched upon the political and extraordinary spe- 
cimens. 

You see, my dear Fritz, how this labor of paint- 
ing the Town-life is growing on my hands ; and 
there is reason to fear that this soft dalliance of the 
Spring breezes will catch me half through my la- 
bors, and lure me to a share in your country com- 
panionship. Meantime give me your best wishes, 
and splice them with a mug of your mountain ale. 

TlMON. 




MARCH 7. 



NEW-YORK, 



NO. 7. 



"In our day, the audience makes the poet, and the bookseller the au- 
thor." — Shaftesbury. 

"Geese were made to grow feathers, and farmers' wives to pluck 
them." — Dr. Southey. 



I have a long letter in store for you, my country 
Fritz, upon the authors and authorlings of our day ; 
but meantime, by way of prelude to that full or- 
chestral overture, I want to tell you something of 
the booksellers' opinions 

The sentiment which I have taken from Shaftes- 
bury contains a truth, which I had not believed to 
be so palpable, until I had become, in virtue of my 
present vagary, a sort of book-maker myself. This 
18 



136 THE LORGNETTE, 

accident of position has brought to me a little 
knowledge of the craft of book-making, and book- 
selling, which is not without its value, and which 
may come in from time to time, to point a moral 
of my text. My anonymous character has render- 
ed this observation more truthful and easy ; for the 
shop-keepers have by no means thought it worth 
their while, to withhold, from motives of delicacy or 
interest, any information sought after by a plain 
country gentleman, who secures their good graces 
by a courteous admiration of their shelves, and oc- 
casional purchase of a shilling pamphlet. 

I have entertained myself not unfrequently by 
long chats with my worthy publisher, who, as I 
hold all communication with him by writing, is 
quite ignorant of the identity of his gossiping cus- 
tomer, with the editor of his i smart little weekly. 5 
He of course speaks very highly of the merits of 
the Lorgnette ; affirms that it has created l quite 
a sensation ;' insists (very properly) upon the high 
moral tone of both paper and author, and is quite 
confident that it will have its effect in improving 
the tone of the New York society. Like a shrewd 
man, he of course varies his tactics with the par- 
ties he has to serve ; — to a young lady, he dilates 
upon the piquancy of the sketches of high life 
which the paper contains, and piques her curiosity 



MY PUBLISHER. 137 

by pointing out, with a knowing wink, certain ini- 
tials, and blank allusions, which he recommends 
to her especial attention. 

To an old lady, he either talks of the serious and 
moral caste of the affair — as being a very proper 
matter to be placed in the hands of children — or he 
commends in vivid terms its stores of gossip and 
scandal. To an old gentleman of literary habits, 
he enlarges upon the finish of the style, and the 
clear and bold character of the type. To young 
gentlemen of a rakish appearance, he hints that 
they may find in it touches upon etiquette which 
will prove diverting. To critics, he commends his 
paper as fair game, contenting himself with the 
moderate praise — that it is 4 worth their reading.' 

He further amuses one by the sincere and 
manly air with which he denies all knowledge of 
the author ; and on my remarking casually, that I 
was a stranger in the town, he commended the 
work particularly to my notice, as giving a very 
fair and just view of the town-life and habits ; and 
he begged leave to say to me further, that he had 
no doubt, for his own part, that it was the produc- 
tion of a man of considerable mark in the literary 
world, — and that all the statements to the contrary 
in the paper itself, he was compelled to look upon 
as ' sheer gammon.' I evinced my agreement 



138 THE LORGNETTE. 

with his opinion, and my gratitude for his compli- 
ment, by buying an entire set, and by entering my 
name for all the future numbers, which he told 
me with an air of authority, would amount to at 
least twenty. 

Another bookseller thought the chief objection to 
the work was its size ; twenty pages of matter, 
now-a-days, is so mere a trifle in the book-world, 
that it is not easy to find a man who is willing to 
undertake the reading of so small a quantity — 
much less at the cost of a shilling. He thought if 
the author could be induced to increase the matter 
by half, and reduce the price to sixpence, it might 
prove a profitable thing — to the publishers. As to 
the author's additional labor, he seemed to regard 
it, as most publishers do, very much like so much 
vapor, or wind (I fling you here, Fritz, the handle 
for a witticism, at my cost), which was only to be 
thought of, in connection with the capacity of the 
cylinder, or vessel, which the kindness of the pub- 
lisher was to furnish for containing it. 

He compared the Lorgnette, in this view, with 
one of the flashy novels of some two hundred pages, 
at two and sixpence ; and with an enormous week- 
ly, containing, as he said, fourfold the matter, 
for the small sum of six cents. 

Another bookseller, of large experience in his line, 



THE BOOKSELLER'S OPINION'S 1£9 

thought the paper altogether too quiet for the spirit 
of the day. ' If,' said he, ' these sketches had 
been written in the style of ' Napoleon and his Mar- 
shals,' or Mr. Poe's works, or even of the ' Monk's 
Revenge,' they would have been in great demand. 
The public taste wants, just now, high spicing — a 
great deal of ginger and mustard ; and if the writer 
had ventured to be a little more severe, and made 
personal attacks, or even given personal descrip- 
tions like those in the elegant summer corre- 
spondence of the Express newspaper, with dashes 
thrown in for vowels, there wonld have been no pos- 
sible doubt of his success.' 

Another thing, he very kindly told me, which 
went much against my letters, was the evidently un- 
befriended state of the author. ' He doesn't seem,' 
he told me, ' to have secured the good offices of a 
single journal, or to have a good-natured paragraph- 
writer in the whole town clique ; — of course he can 
hardly hope for any puffs. Depend upon it, sir, 
these little puffs are the making of books now-a- 
days, as much as advertisements are the making of 
pills, or ' bosom-friends' the making of women. The 
publisher might mend the matter somewhat, if he 
would enclose a curt little notice to several of the 
journals, with a long advertisement, or a small bank 
note — but that is his concern. Moreover, a literary 



140 THE LORGNETTE. 

adventurer, as this fellow appears to be, is fair game 
for the whole tribe of critics to peck at, and no edit- 
or thinks it worth his while to say a good word for 
a person that nobody knows. Good opinions are 
not so cheap now-a-days, as to be hazarded with- 
out an equivalent, either in money or flattery.' 

' If,' said a publisher whom I happened to have 
known in the country, ' this author, who seems to 
be a handy fellow with his pen, would make up a 
dashing book of travels in some new country, such 
as the Rocky Mountain Region, or along the Gua- 
temala shores, I have no doubt but that it would 
meet with a fair sale, and I should not object under 
suitable guarantees, to undertake the work of pub- 
lishing.' On my hinting that possibly the writer 
might not be familiar with those regions, he answer- 
ed that it made but very little difference ; — that in 
fact, one half of the more popular books of travel, 
just now, were made up by persons who had never 
visited the localities described, — that it was only 
necessary to make the general features and geog- 
raphy correct, — that, in short, the Universal Ga- 
zetteer and Morse's Cereographic Maps afforded 
sufficient data for a man of proper genius to make 
a reputation in that line. The old class of writers, 
who dealt stupidly in facts, he informed me, were 



THE BOOKSELLER'S OPINIONS. 141 

now quite given up, and were not worth considera- 
tion. 

Even the soberer subjects of History, he told 
me, must be re- vamped in some tasty way, and all 
the little tittle-tattle of the times, if it could only 
be seized hold of, would go farther to make a his- 
tory-writer great, than all those leading political 
facts which used to be considered essential to the 
very name of history. And he instanced in this 
connection Mr. Parley, Mr. Abbott, and even Prof. 
Frost, who, by proper attention to this habit of 
the popular mind, had achieved immense reputa- 
tion, and what was still more rare — indeed almost 
unknown with the whole race of American writers — 
very considerable incomes. 

A popular publisher of startling pamphlets, has 
conveyed to me privately, the suggestion of putting 
my periodical into more popular shape, by intro- 
ducing some extravagant diablerie upon the cover, 
printing in blue and crimson, and by giving more 
details of private life than I have yet ventured 
upon ; and he hinted that if it could be made up 
in the literary style of a late pamphlet, the ' Rich 
Men of New York,' with a little of scandal inter- 
spersed, in what he was pleased to term my ' very 
readable style, 5 it would be much more to my 
credit, and he would engage to take three hun- 



142 THE LORGNETTE. 

dred copies of each number off my publisher's 
hands. 

Of course, my dear Fritz, I should be very un- 
grateful not to be anxious to please the booksellers, 
who are so full of their friendly suggestions, and 
who are so clearly anxious to please me. But as 
the gaining of a little money is not so much my 
object, as the gratification of a curious desire I am 
possessed of, to say whatever my humor disposes 
me to say — in my own way, at my own time, and 
at my own length — I shall hold on very pertina- 
ciously to my present system, until my letters are 
done. Meantime, however, I would not object to 
proposals, coming from respectable publishers, with 
suitable references, for entering during the summer 
upon a two- volume book of travels in Ethiopia, or 
along the Upper Mississippi — a short, didactic 
homily upon the ' Rochester Knockings,' — 'Unpub- 
lished Poems of John Milton, by his great-grand- 
son,' or i Astounding developments connected with 
the life of Q, n Y-ct-r-a !' 

Do not think, Fritz, that I am disposed to mis- 
judge the bounty, or the literary acumen of most 
of our town-publishers. Not a more charitable 
body of men, in their way, than our publishers 
and booksellers, are to be found in the world ; and 
the number of authors who are maintaining from 



AN EMINENT HOUSE. 143 

day to day a subsistence upon their benevolence, is, 
T am told, past all computation. 

It has even been suggested by the refined and 
elegant of our town (and the suggestion does even 
more credit to their heads, than to their hearts), 
that a committee of the most respected authors, 
with Dr. Grriswold at their head, be named, to erect 
some suitable testimonial to a well-known publish- 
ing house of C Street ;— to commemorate its 

Herculean and most self-denying efforts, in encour- 
aging a taste for an elegant and refined literature ; 
and in creating, by its unwonted and most praise- 
worthy attentions, an esprit du corps among Amer- 
ican authors, which has given birth to a pure and 
a manly spirit in our indigenous literature. 

A design, which would not be improperly com- 
mitted to the genius of the distinguished architect 
of the late Bowling Green fountain, # might em- 
brace a colossal statue of a prominent member of 
the house, with one hand clasping to his bosom the 
"Wandering Jew, and James' last novel, and with 
the other raining down gold upon the Bryants and 
the Sedgewicks ; — while at the watch-fob, in the 



* This dief-d'Geuvre consisted of a magnificent structure of native 
American rocks — arranged with an eye to the picturesque— over which 
the waters constantly bubbled, in most graceful and unceasing jets. It 
was found to leak badly, however, and has been taken down. 



144 THE LORGNETTE. 

nature of a charm, might hang a copy of i Harper's 
Pictorial Bible.' 

An inscription might be written on the pedestal, 
rendered classical by Dr. Anthon, but spelt accord- 
ing to "Webster in the vernacular : — 

THIS HIGH MONUMENT 

IS BILT BY THE GENIUS OF AMERICA, TO HONOR 

2T|)e J&ost JBisttusuisjjeU gtctov 

ON THE THEATER OF AMERICAN LETTERS. 

mltndo mater librorum fecundissima, 
Nobis nutrix verborum liberrima. 

" Non possebat enim rumores ante salutem ; 
Ergo postque magisque nunc gloria claret !"* 

But not to a single house should all such honor 
be due ; generosity and literary kindliness are uni- 
versal in the profession ; and dozens of impoverished 
publishers are understood to be the martyrs of 
books, whose authors are dining sumptuously every 
day. Is no new Horatius Flaccus to be found ? 

* A little latitude of translation, Fritz, is allowable in our day ; were 
it otherwise, I think I should not be very wide of the intent, that schol- 
ars would put upon the couplet, in rendering it by this doggerel : — 

He didn't reckon honor so highly as his purse, 

So now there's not a man, whose honor shines the worse ! 



THE opera: 145 

Will not the author of I Liberty's Triumph' make 
an ode in honor of our Maecenases ? 

To this topic, my dear Fritz, we will recur at 
our leisure . 



THE OPERA. 

"Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners ; 
if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must he wicked ; 
and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation." — Totxhstone. 

I have not as yet, Fritz, given you a look at 
what passes for the nucleus of much talk, many 
amiable newspaper quarrels, and very erudite crit- 
icism, — I mean the Opera. It was, I must admit, 
with a little pardonable vanity, and perhaps 
finesse, that I put upon my cover the name of 
1 Opera-goer ;' knowing very well that without 
such passport to fashionable salons, scarce a single 
number of my paper would be sold. But since 
the suspicion, as I learn through my publisher, is 
now afloat, that John Timon is in fact no Opera- 
goer at all, and is only making pretences toward a 
fashionable distinction, which does not at all be- 
long to him, I must do away with it at race, by 
placing you within the doors. And I may tell 
you, Fritz, that to be placed within those doors, ei- 
ther as critic, belle, or spectator, is a circumstance 



146 THE LORGNETTE. 

which would greatly help you out in any intentions 
you might have upon New York society. 

To be an Opera-goer, is in fact a sort of distinc- 
tion, which very few can afford to be without ; and 
nothing but extraordinary distinction, a very repu- 
table name, or superior attainments, can in any 
way balance a neglect of the Opera-house. There 
is a charm in the very name of Opera-goer, to 
all who are in search of eligible young men ; 
and a seat secured by a bachelor, or a box of 
a regular subscriber, are points cP appui which 
nothing but the most gross inattention can fail 
to render efficacious, in securing a respectable 
position among those who guide us, in matters of 
taste, etiquette, and morals. 

At the same time it is a distinction which must 
be coyly ventured on ; and a little undue haste in 
posting one's self thus far, has sometimes subjected 
the unfortunate aspirant to most invidious abuse. 

Thus a grocer, upon the eve of rising above his 
business, and making a stir with equipage, and 
balls, should by no means venture at once upon 
Opera-going : it is too hasty a step, and will in- 
duce remark about his knowledge, or appreciation 
of the music, that if he be at all sensitive, may 
provoke him to a retort, which would be social 
death ; — or to a relinquishment of endeavor, which 



THE OPERA. 147 

would, of course, forever debar his girls from an 
entrance upon the social platform. He should 
gain, by coy means, a little street position in the 
first place, and should endeavor to win respectable 
opinions by bounteous suppers, or by heavy sub- 
scriptions to popular charities — such as the Wash- 
ington Monument, a Dickens ball, or contributions 
to political roues who make successful speeches ; 
and after a winter or two of this management, well 
backed up by plenty of (xerman music teachers, 
and a pew in Grace Church, he may safely ven- 
ture on securing a pretty loge, and taking to it 
his daughters, three times a week, arrayed in the 
prettiest of Martel's beetle head-dresses. 

A bachelor has the same observance to keep in 
mind ; and without some such position as member- 
ship of the New York Club, or sometimes driving 
a tandem, or invitation to Mrs. J.'s parties, or at 
least a fair place on Mr. Browne's roll of ' admissi- 
bles' may give him, it would be quite unsafe to 
make the Opera- venture. He would inevitably be 
set down, either as a curious music-lover from the 
country, or some poor starveling of a critic, and 
not receive the notice of so much as a single opera- 
glass. 

At the same time, it may be said generally that 

the subscription to an opera-box is a safe venture 
14* 



148 THE LORGNETTE. 

in its way, and will, under favorable circum- 
stances, do more to establish a man's position upon 
the town, than any subscription for the building of 
a church, or the very largest of private, and quite 
ignoble charities. 

Such absurd, and unnecessary acts of benevo- 
lence as endowing a school, or helping out of their 
straits a poor family, are of very little worth in 
comparison with a liberal opera support ; and they 
will really do no more to make a man's name re- 
spectably known with the leaders of our ton, than 
if he were to subscribe to the Church Record, or 
go to morning prayers in Lent. 

I could easily draw my pen over the names of 
not a few unfortunate gentlemen, who, by a most 
incomprehensible devotion to such indifferent mat- 
ters, and persistance in a quiet, and most unosten- 
tatious scale of charities, have forfeited all oppor- 
tunity of securing for their wives and daughters, 
however attractive they may be, high social emi- 
nence, or even the most casual mention in the fash- 
ionable papers, or the billiard-room of the New York 
Club. Such men sin, too, with their eyes wide 
open ; and if they lose caste and social position, the 
loss will doubtless be rendered more harassing by 
the conviction that Mr. Maretzek, his troupe, and 
their newspaper admirers, have, with a generosity 



THE OPERA COMPANY. 149 

and foresightedness which do them honor, placed 
within their reach, at a small cost, every hope of 
achieving eminence. 

Indeed, the Opera company, and above all, the 
managers, may be regarded as missionaries, who 
have, with a disinterestedness and love of souls, 
most commendable, left the attractions and luxu- 
ries of European Society, to come to this land of 
almost Pagan socialism ; and they are here putting 
forth their best efforts in a variety of ways, to save 
us from our lost condition, and to bring us nearer 
to the elevated plane of fashion, morals, liberality, 
and taste, which they have left behind them. 
They find too, fortunately, not a few, who are 
willing to take them by the hand, and cheer them 
in their undertaking — nay, to give them the aid of 
little piquant paragraphs of praise, which go 
forth like so many gospels of mercy, to redeem us 
from our social barbarism, and to gather us into 
the sheepfold of Opera-goers. 

Were I disposed, Fritz, to the Carlyle manner, I 
might exclaim here — "What heroism ! what devo- 
tion ! 

Music, and the love of it, high as they seem to 
stand, are, I assure you, but secondary matters, 
and entirely subordinate to that higher culture of 
what is elegant in chit-chat, and striking in ad- 



150 THE LORGNETTE. 

dress, for which the Italian missionary house offers 
such wonderful facilities. "Where can a man find 
a more lavish display of the beauties with which 
Providence has adorned the faces and figures of the 
sex ? where a more delectable interchange of plea- 
sant and instructive conversation ? where can a 
man gain easier an exalted position upon the social 
gradus ? where can he put off better the air of his 
shop, and the taint of his shop-keeping ancestry? 
where will he have better opportunity of studying 
the anatomy, not only of the social life, but of pou 
trinal development and action ? where else can a 
man look for patterns of moustache, head-dress, or 
gloves ? where else, in short, can be found such a 
theatre for observing the successive advances of 
town-society, in taste, refinement, and all manner 
of polite accomplishment ? 

The boudoir, in the comparison, is but a green- 
room to the stage ; the salon, but the field for little 
excursionary forays ; the ball-room, a recreative 
play- ground ; and the old-fashioned parlor-circle, 
but the arena for sensible stupidities and frightful 
proprieties. 

Fritz, my dear fellow, when you come up to 
town, take a box at the Opera ! You will gain po- 
sition, refinement ; and by assiduous attendance, 
you will acquire a cultivation that no mere book- 



OUR OPERA HOUSE. 151 

reading can blunt ; and a bien-seance that all the 
good sense in the world will be utterly unable to 
subdue. 

If you are painting now upon the retina of your 
remembering eye, a vision of those great Italian 
Opera-houses, such as San Carlo, where tier above 
tier of eager ones, half shielded by the facade of 
their dimly-lighted loges, are listening to the mu- 
sic, or receiving their evening salutations, — let me 
beg you to mend the image. Our Opera-house is 
constructed more especially to see, and to be seen ; 
such quiet hearing-place as a box of the fourth tier 
at La Scala, would pass without a call from Ameri- 
can Opera-goers. 

The Italian Opera had probably (as the biographers 
say) its origin in Italy ; at least we have a right 
to infer it, from the language in which it is usually 
recited. It seems a natural exponent of the char- 
acter and fancies of a poetic, passionate, musical, 
and idle people. You will remember, Fritz, our 
earnest admiration, years ago, of the recitativo of 
the street-singers in the long Via Toledo ; and our 
listening by a midnight moon, in the city of Bo- 
logna, to the musical patrols ; — scarce less en- 
chanting to the imagination of a foreigner, than the 
leaning towers, the sausages, or the Guido pictures 

of that old city of gloomy arcades. It was but 
14* 



152 THE LORGNETTE. 

natural that the Northern cities of Europe should, 
for the gratification of their traveled and luxuri- 
ous population, and above all, their courts, intro- 
duce the Southern music, and should secure, by 
their superior wealth, the first performers. Hence 
it is, that the Italian Opera finds its best present- 
ment in Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, and London ; 
that is to say, the primi singers are superior in 
those cities, while the chorus maintains its excel- 
lence in the south. 

With the importation of other foreign luxuries 
and habits to the American metropolis, the Opera 
could not fail to make its appearance. It com- 
mended itself singularly to those who had brought 
back from the Old World a love of its peculiarities 
and courtly tastes — saying nothing of the few who 
would regard it as a pleasant souvenir of musical 
intoxication. From its very artificial nature, it 
would serve as the germ for a new amusement, to 
such as had exhausted their merely natural incli- 
nations ; its enjoyment, or pretended enjoyment, 
implied too, the possession of a cultivated and 
artificial taste, which would lift it above the level 
of ordinary and popular appreciation ; and this 
would specially commend it to many worthy dem- 
ocratic citizens, who are forever on the lookout for 
any pardonable means of rising above the common 



ADVANTAGES OF THE OPERA. 153 

atmosphere, and for breathing an air whose rare- 
fied state should give a pleasing delirium to their 
senses. 

"Wealth, too, which had tried all the vulgar 
means of manifestation in houses and plate, was 
anxious to seize on a new medium of representing 
itself in alliance with what was dignified as an 
art. Young ladies, not lacking attractions, and 
not having the entree of the salons where they 
might shine, could at the Opera, find a common 
ground of display, with the most high-bred. Whole 
families could rise from obscurity upon the wings 
of subscription tickets ; and pining street beauties 
enter upon a new life of head-dresses, of negliges 
hoods, and pink-lined cloaks. Middle-aged gentle- 
men, too, whose position was indefinable, from some 
unfortunate prejudice attaching to birth or employ- 
ment, could now appear in ball costume, and dain- 
tiest of neck-ties, and do the faint execution of for- 
ty-year-old bucks upon the belles of the hour. Ill- 
matched ladies, moreover, condemned to the society 
of such rheumatic husbands as could not venture 
to balls or concerts, might now secure their private 
boxes, and be ogled and admired by whomever they 
wished. 

It was, in fact, a charming device for measuring 
our refined, democratic society, by general observa- 



154 THE LOBGNETTE. 

tion. But as it was to become in some sort the 
nurse, or directress of social education, it was 
deemed advisable to drop the ballet which had uni- 
formly belonged to the Opera in Europe ; — so that 
tender nerves should not be rudely shocked, and 
that the amusement might thus become as pure 
and wholesome, as it was natural and enjoyable. 
There were no provisions, however, in regard to 
low-necked dresses and strong lights ; the Homeric 
women, or ' high-bosomed,' being reckoned superior 
to the ballatrice, or long-legged. 

At first, I am told, the Opera had its locale in a 
comparatively humble situation, where it was ex- 
posed to the inroads of common people, and where 
the ton of the hour were horrified by the presence 
of a great many ignorant country merchants, from 
the neighboring hotels, — men who very sensible 
and business-like in their way, had neither the re- 
quisite finish of dress, or the right mode of listen- 
ing, to adorn such shrine of taste. This defect has 
been remedied by placing the Opera-house upon a 
more elevated footing ; it is removed to a fash- 
ionable quarter, and a special regimen of dress (that 
of the Queen's Theatre, London) has been adopted ; 
without which, it is now generally understood, that 
the finer Italian music can be but very faintly ap- 
preciated. 



THE OPERA HOUSE. 155 

These means and appliances have made the town 
Opera a most noticeable matter. Three times a 
week, during the winter, its sofas, music, and light 
have brought together all that was supposed to be 
lovely, or learned in our town. There may be, in- 
deed, good, common creatures for household pur- 
poses, or such women as would make most excel- 
lent mothers without the Opera doors ; but they can- 
not aspire to that apex of our social pyramid, which 
can be scaled only through the agency of our most 
devoted patrons of Italian song. 

I have amused myself often, Fritz, in running 
my glass over the interested faces which grace this 
temple of our social worship. Admirers and ardent 
lovers of the music, of course they all are ; but 
their loves do, somehow, wonderfully vary. You 
might see in one box some little fair-faced girl, 
not too modest, — j ust having left behind her at her 
school, — amare, the Paradise Lost, and Porqueth 
Tresor, — blush into our town-world under the dain- 
tiest of head-dresses, and with the most naive at- 
tention to the scenes and drapery. She can scarce 
manage that huge lorgnette ; but its handling has 
been well practiced ; her glove is a fit ; and if she 
do not see plainly, she at least seems to see. Her 
mamma, with eager eye, cultivated by such optic 
study, calculates, with motherly discretion, the 



156 THE LORGNETTE. 

range of the various lenses that turn that way. She 
slyly pulls the dress of her daughter if the poor 
thing is disposed to break into raptures at the mu- 
sic, when Mrs. J is only smiling. She chides 

her, too, if neglectful or inattentive, when the sig- 
nal has been given by one of Forti's die-away ef- 
forts, for enthusiastic applause. 

Yonder you will see a fresh aspirant for social 
honors, in the best of Miss Lawson's 'fixings/ 
studying — not the scene, but the conduct of a pair 
of old stagers. She is laying up in her memory, 
from observation of every fold of a lace mantilla, 
from every swoop of the neck, and from every ma- 
noeuvre with the glass, a set of rules which, on fu- 
ture nights, will stand her in great stead. Anoth- 
er, not familiar with the atmosphere, but too na'ivc 
to be studying dress or attitude, is very fearful lest 
she, in some way, offend against the practices of 
that august court. She scarce dares smile at San- 
quirico, for she sees a sober expression on the face 
of the elegant lady of an adjoining box ; and when 
she is near dying with admiration, she blushes to 
find that her companion is talking behind her fan 
with the gentleman of the long moustache. She 
wonders, indeed, overmuch what she ought to ad- 
mire ; she wishes heartily she knew ; but for her 



THE OPERA GOERS. 157 

life she cannot imagine what are the rules of the 
Opera taste. 

An old gentleman, the father of a family, who is 
not an habitue, but who has come to have an eye 
upon what he terms his wife's vanities, will sadly 
mortify his family and family connections, by yawn- 
ing in the corner of his box. In vain the distressed 
wife will pinch his elbows, or put on an indignant 
scowl ; in vain the daughter will look appealingly? 
and murmur reproachfully, ' Why, papa!' — the 
poor man turns to the stage, trying hard to smile — 
to look serious — to admire, as he gets the cue from his 
wife's glances ; and he casts a timid eye to the 
boxes to see if his gaucherie is observed. Yet he is 
patron of Italian music, and will furnish his wife 
with an heraldic panel to her carriage. 

The travelled admirer who is of course very ar- 
tistic in her admiration, will assume an easy care- 
lessness, — be very indifferent when there is show 
of pathos, — play with her lorgnette at a stroke of 
humor, and whisper in a languishing way to her 
companion, when the singers have achieved their 
greatest triumph, — that it is only comme ga. 

The old ladies who are looking out for new emi- 
nence in these capitally-contrived boxes, — now that 
their ball-age is utterly gone by, — and who know 
as much of Italian as of music, and as much of 



158 THE LORGNETTE 

4 

both, as Sancho Panza knew of temperance, or 
Faublas of chastity, — will study pretty disposition 
of colors, and shades, and make their old eyes 
blaze anew with the opera gas, and coquetry. 

The critic who is treasuring in his brain partic- 
ular Italian expressions, and who cons his copy to 
learn the orthography, will look wise as an owl, — 
sneer when the vulgar old gentleman yonder is 
patting his fat hands in clamorous applause, and 
will listen intently, and with an artist cock of the 
eye, to the more delicate execution — which to the 
mass of our earnest Opera-goers (and perhaps to 
the critic himself) is as much Greek, as the Lilli- 
bullero of my uncle Toby. 

As for critical appreciation and remark, it re- 
solves itself after a few nights, and the issue of a 
few Journal leaders, into an established set of 
opinions, which do not vary to the end. Thus 
Bertucca, who has Italianized a French name and 
a French habit of song, is the i wooden Bertucca.' 
Beneventano, with a voice windy as a blacksmith's 
bellows, is the stout swaggerer, who makes love like 
a butcher, but whose stature fills up classically the 
scenes. Forti, with nice ear, and artistic apprecia- 
tion, is a trifle Jewish, — yet with no Hebraic vol- 
ume in his lungs ; — not handsome enough to be 
admired, nor ugly enough to call out raptures from 



THE ITALIAN DIVINITIES. 159 

eccentric ladies. Truffi is the Divine — the goddess 
of the scenes, whose action is the worship of the 
critics, and whose singing will cause a delirium in 
the pit. As for Benedetti, his retirement has been 
honored with more sighs of regret, than ever fol- 
lowed the best missionary expose of heathen Poly- 
nesia. John Rogers at the stake (in the primer) 
was nothing to the martyred Benedetti. The new ' 
Thaddeus of Warsaw ! — for seasons to come, ditties 
will be pointed with his name, — recorded honors 
will gather round his memory, and lady-sighs will 
thicken over him. 

These, our Italian Divinities, my dear Fritz, 
have been the centres of more active conversation, 
and the subjects of livelier debate in salon, at ball, 
and upon the street, than all the political heroes of 
the hour — not excepting the sick lion of the South, 
now mumbling like Dagon in his cave, over the 
bones of his victims. 

Gro where you will, if only the aspiring beauties 
of our town be present, and the Italian aperient 
shall open the lady-talk, and lovers paying their 
vows in operatic fragments, shall sigh, — Non so, 
perchti non posso odiarti ! 

It would be impossible, indeed, to compute the 

amount of influence in our town, flowing from that 

company of singers who enjoy the presidence of 
15 



160 THE LORGNETTE. 

Maretzek. All the clergy influences combined, — 
the anti-dramatic counterblasts of the Tabernacle, 
— the secessions of distinguished doctors, — the 
newspaper letters of a bishop, — the pro tempore 
harangues of the Head of the Pilgrims, and all the 
fish-bladders of the Ecclesiologists, are dust and 
chaff, compared with the prevailing animus that 
enlivens the body of our opera-worshippers ! Vic- 
toria is scarce so much the subject of talk in the 
court circles of London, as are our heroes of the 
Astor-place among the ■ leaders of our ton.' 

Carlyle says our people have not contrived yet 
any great, new, social idea ; — let him sweat us out 
of the mazes of his contorted words, a greater one 
than this very Musico-socio-operatic Idea, belonging 
to our town and ton ; and if he can do it, I for one, 
Fritz, will link myself to the herd of his admirers, — 
who, though capital fellows, with their inverted op- 
tics, to reduce every existing system to apparent 
confusion, are yet, like their great demi-god, the 
weakest of weaklings, to devise any tangible , or 
practical method of Reform. 

TiMor 




MARCH 14. 



NEW-YORK, 



NO. 8. 



'' II vaut mieux souffrir d'etre au nombre des foux, 
Que du sage parti se voir seul contre tous-" — Moliere. 



It is the mode for periodicals of credit and abil- 
ity, to give from time to time upon their covers, 
the 8 Opinions of the Press.' But from these opin- 
ions are generally carefully eliminated all such as 
count against the merit, or success of the publica- 
tion. Now as I wish to be a la mode, Fritz, and 
am at the same time too thoroughly a foe to all 
sorts of quackery, to deceive the public by expur- 
gated notices, I shall give you upon the cover of 

the present paper, a taste of the opinions of Jour- 
16 



162 THE LORGNETTE. 

nals : — thanking most cordially those who have 
done me the honor of commendation, and entertain- 
ing at the same time, a most respectful sympathy 
for those who have i not seen the point. 5 My par- 
ticular favor is due to the erudite editor of the 
Express, who has furnished me with a sarcophagus 
in his columns, and a pretty epitaph from his 
French reading ; a more successful undertaker in 
all literary matters could hardly be wished for ; — 
his types make a fitting entombment, and his com- 
ment a proper shroud. 

PEOPLE IN SOCIETY. 

" Caotera de generehoc, adeo sunt multa, loquacem, 
Delassare valent Fabium " Hor. i. Sat. 1. 16. 

Others like these are left, enough to tire 
A Timon's pen, *or all the Scalpel's fire. 

Our neighbors next door, some of whom I occa- 
sionally see in the back-court, hanging out a bit or 
two of mock Mechlin to dry, or a crushed petticoat 
to be blown into proper rotundity, are worthy peo- 
ple, of whom my landlady sometimes borrows a 
half a pound of tea, or a little ' spirits,' to tincture 
the sauce for the apple-dumpling. I had expected 
to meet them nearer by at one of our little parlor- 
soirees, which came off not long since. After 
being presented to a very showy girl in green silk, 



PEOPLE IN SOCIETY 163 

who sang in bewitching style, and to an old lady 
in bombazine, who had a good deal to say to me, — 
about genteel education, I ventured to ask after 
the neighbors. My landlady shook her head quite 
seriously, and told me that though they were very 
good sort of persons in their way, yet they were 
1 not in society.' This would not have been so 
curious, if I had not remembered that the tasteful 
lodger had remarked to me a few weeks back, with 
a very sober, and I thought, sympathizing air, that 
the landlady, though a very nice person, was ' not 
in society.' 

. The maid informs me that this tasteful lodger 
1 goes into society,' once or twice a week, on which 
occasions there is a prodigious stir in his chamber ; 
the maid is running up and down stairs with hot 
water and ' fixings;' and the tasteful gentleman 
gives very loud orders from the hall, about his var- 
nished boots, and the carriage. The Irish girl 
dresses his wife's hair, and does the lacing ; after 
which she uniformly steps into the parlor to have 
the landlady's opinion, which is, of course, always 
highly enthusiastic. 

I must say that I have long felt no little curios- 
ity, to ascertain what sort of society the tasteful 
gentleman adorns with his presence : but not until 
recently have I been gratified. Finding that the 



164 THE LORGNETTE. 

old dowager with whom I take an occasional ride, 
was really possessed of a carriage with a small de- 
vice upon the door-panel, he volunteered one even- 
ing last week, to introduce me ' in society.' I ex- 
pressed myself charmed, and at the time appointed, 
was duly ready. He gave a running glance at my 
equipments, which seemed to him to be satisfac- 
tory. We were set down at the door of a small 
house, in what he said was a very respectable 
street ; though he had previously admonished me 
that I must not look for any very great style, as the 
family, though uncommonly high, were just now 
rather under the weather. 

I was therefore somewhat taken aback, to find, 
on entering, an uncommon glare of wax candles, a 
good many plaster statuettes, and some very showy 
colored engravings, which the tasteful gentleman 
informed me, by a whisper, were by 'crack artists.' 
The everlasting folding-doors, or, as the author of 
Alice elegantly terms them, the bivalves were 
thrown open, and disclosed the usual vista of carpet, 
book-case, and arm-chairs. The last Home Jour- 
nal, an elegant book in papier-mache covers, and an 
embellished copy of Tupper's Philosophy were 
upon the centre-table, while a folded number of the 
Express was doing duty underneath a leaky flower- 
pot. 



INTRODUCTION TO SOCIETY. 163 

The lady of the mansion, upon my introduction, 
met me with a certain assured manner of the town, 
well calculated to astound and bewilder a modest 
country-gentleman who was making his first en- 
trie. She asked me, with a glance over her com- 
pany, if I had seen much of New York fashionable 
society ? and upon hearing my embarrassed denial, 
was clearly disposed to cheer me up, and to treat me 
with very much of that kind and pitying regard, with 
which missionaries look upon unmitigated Pagans, 
or as our voyaging tourists regard such Marquesans 
as are ignorant of the nature and uses of petticoats. 

An elegant young lady in bare arms, three 
flounces, and massive gold bracelets was at the 
piano ; her head, set off with a wreath of green 
leaves and blackberry blossoms, was thrown a little 
to one side, and she was singing a fragment full 
of cuori and amanti, with delicate accompaniment, 
in what my hostess assured me was ' most captiva- 
ting style.' 

She presently rounded it off with a whirl of the 
fingers over the keys, — serving very much like 
those notes of exclamation, which young authors 
are very apt to put at the end of what they reckon 
their pretty periods. The tasteful gentleman pat- 
ted his gloves together, and declared that it was 

i quite charming.' The hostess kindly offered to 
16* 



166 THE LORGNETTE. 

present me to Miss Thuggins, who was just now 
rising from the piano-stool. 

Miss Thuggins bowed graciously. I thought — • 
' it had been a fine day.' She thought ' yesterday 
was, too.' I assented cordially, and thought ' it 
had been an uncommon mild winter.' She thought 
— < very mild, — the mildest she remembered; 
though she did not remember many.' 

Of course she did not remember many — how 
should she ? I thought ' it was most spring.' She 
thought it was ' nearly.' I thought ' from her 
charming performance she must be a lover of mu- 
sic ?' She tossed her head prettily, and thought — 
6 oh,- comme gaS 

I thought — ' she must go occasionally to the 
Opera.' She thought 'our box was rarely empty ;' 
and she asked me what I thought of Forti, and 
then what I thought of Bertucca, and then — of 
Beneventano, and then of Don Giovanni? And 
she interspersed the questioning with pretty little 
opinions which, Fritz, you will find condensed in 
the last number of the Lorgnette, or sown broad- 
cast through the winter's file of the Home Journal. 
Occasionally an Italian term or two were thrown 
in, which, if my memory does not misgive me, were 
not strictly of Roman pronunciation. 

This topic, and the last ball at the Widges being 



A LADY IN SOCIETY. 167 

duly discussed, I diverted talk to the evening, and 
toward the tasteful gentleman, who I supposed ' was 
an old acquaintance.' ' Only slight ;' she had met 
him she believed, but she did not think he was ; in 
society.' I directed attention to our hostess, and, 
as in duty bound, spoke highly of her taste and 
accomplishments. l Oh yes,' said Miss Thuggins, 
1 she's very well ; I sometimes run in here on the 
• i Off-nights ;' she's a good body, though ' not much 
in society.' Indeed, since her return from abroad 
(there was a little interruption, and she repeated) 
— since her return from abroad, she felt little relish 
for most of New York Society. 'Ah! indeed,' 
said I, (it is well, Fritz, to counterfeit a little sur- 
prise at any such announcement ; but not too 
much ; you should have l half suspected it from 
her manner',) ' and is society so superior abroad ?' 

1 Vastly, sir ; such breeding you see, (she un- 
clasps a bracelet,) and the gentlemen are so pol- 
ished — so agreeable — so ' And she reclasps 

her bracelet, and looks across the room with an ex- 
pression of most intense ennui. 

I ventured to ask ' if foreign society was acces- 
sible ?' 

6 Oh no ; but then we had letters, (with an air 
of indifference and careless dignity.) It was noth- 
ing but dining out ; — one day at the Clarendon 



168 THE LORGNETTE. 

with a party of friends, and then down at Green- 
wich to eat white-bait, and then with a merchant 
who has a bijou of a place out at Hamstead, and 
then at Carleton Terrace ; and in Scotland we met 
Lord Somebody at an inn, and were so sociable 
together — a delightful man, I think I have his au- 
tograph.' 

Judge, Fritz, of my humiliation in talking with 
a lady of such extensive parts ! ' This Miss Thug- 
gins,' thought I, ' must be a trump card ; doubt- 
less one of the shining ornaments of the town soci- 
ety ; she has very likely learned the schottisch ; 
she is an admirer of Truffi ; she has passable com- 
mand of French ; she even limps in Italian ; she 
probably has her carriage — perhaps a coachman 
with hat-band, and very likely a seat ^in Grrace 
Church, or even a coat-of-arms on her card, or over 
her door. 

I determined to risk the mention of her name to 
my old dowager friend on my next ride. ' Thug- 
gins,' said she — ' Thuggins, upon my word, I don't 
know her.' 

' But, my dear madame, she is an extraordinary 
young lady ; she has a box at the Opera ; she 
dined at a Scotch inn with a Lord ; she wears tre- 
mendous bracelets ; she talks French ; she is hor- 
ribly ennuyee by New York Society.' 



BEING IN SOCIETY. 169 

' These are good points — very,' said the old lady. 
i Fidkins, (pulling the check-line,) whose drab 
coachman comes to the kitchen for you so often — 
the rich grocer's you spoke of?' 

1 Thuggins, marm.' 

* Oh,' said madame, ' I know now — a nice girl, 
I have heard, in her way ; a parvenu — she is not 
4 at all in society.' By the way, would you like 
to call with me at the Widges ?' 

4 My dear madame,' said I, appealingly, ' I should 
like exceedingly to know what it is to be in ' soci- 
ety' in your town ?' 

' Justement — at the Widges, mon cher Timon, we 
shall be in society.' 

To the "Widges we went. Tophanes happened 
to be there, and came across the room to say to me, 
sotto voce, ' Eh, Timon, getting in here ? A devil- 
ish good place (piano) to come for suppers, but 
vulgar after all ; interlopers, — well posted in mu- 
sic matters, — drive a good ' turn-out,' but only 
half a year or so in standing ; and as for Monsieur, 

(pianissimo,) he is a d n scoundrel !' And he 

moved off to tell madame how charmingly she was 
looking, this bright spring weather. 

If you expect me, Fritz, to tell you definitively, 
from such observations as these, what it is to be 
i in society,' you are hugely mistaken. To be in 



170 THE LORGNETTE. 

society is after all only a relative state of being, 
and changes with your company, like the kaleid- 
escopic colors in a man's hand. You may meet 
with warm receptions, most kindly attentions, gen- 
tle manners, winning address, and extreme cul- 
tivation, yet it may not be ' in society.' You may 
be startled with most lavish display of wealth, or 
the most gorgeous of velvet cloaks, yet perhaps 
' not in society.' 

Impudence may set a man in society, or it may 
throw him out. Goodness will never bring him 
in, and it is a shabby standard of faith if among 
the elect. Particular professions belong to i people 
in society ;' but they are in the general way, pro- 
fessions without practice. The broker is depend- 
ent on age, brain, marriage, or presumption. The 
cloth-man (nothing now of coats or tailors) is sub- 
ject to the amount of cloths he may bargain for, — 
whether by piece or bale. The dentist is in a most 
doubtful place, hanging as it were, upon the lip of 
society. The doctor (if of Divinity) passes current 
like old coin which rings with a jingle, though the 
device, or date of stamp cannot be made out. 
The physician ' in society' takes very few fees, has 
few patients, (except his listeners,) is tidy, prim, 
buckish, and marriageable. The bankrupt gives 
good dinners, is shy of his creditors, and is a most 



TO BE IN SOCIETY. 171 

excellent churchman. Authors and pastry-cooks 
are of a doubtful class, depending very much on 
the tastiness of their wares : a piquant sauce to a 
pate, or a pair of pants to a lady Alice, will be irre- 
sistible. 

Mr. B you do not know, or care to know, 

though you have met him affectionately in ' soci- 
ety.' Miss C you do not know, though you 

have hugged her in the waltz, and felt her breath 
steaming on your cheek — it was only* ' in society.' 
Madame is a dear, delightful old lady — but only < in 

society.' Mr. D is a man in ' society ;' it is for 

him not only a state of being, but of action. He has 
the most taking chit-chat of the Journals at his 
tongue's end ; he has studied Count D'Orsay's eti- 
quette to a fault ; he wears a cravat as wide as the 
wings of a turkey-cock before moulting time ; he 
cultivates his incipient moustache with the most 
assiduous handling ; he compliments old ladies for 
their youthfulness, and young women for their 
beauty, and ugly ones for their sweet expression; 
he goes to dinners, and wins the champagne for his 
stories ; he goes to balls, and wins a waltz, a sup- 
per, and a headache for his pains. 

1 To be in society' is not to be at home ; it is not 
to be domestic — nor religious, except at church, or 
when talking with the clergyman's daughter. It 
is to say things you do not mean; to know people 



172 THE LORGNETTE. 

you do not respect ; to bow to those you despise ; 
to smile without intending it, and to live in mock- 
ery. 

To ' be in society ' is a most extraordinary posi- 
tion ; — for a man, it is more than virtual death of 
action, energy, or of anything worthy of his man- 
liness. For a woman, it is to ensure her trappings 
the widest talk, her failings the largest scandal, 
and her salons the greatest crowd. For a belle, it 
is to push her into the best market for tire poorest 
bidders ; it is to expose her ancle, her bust, her 
features, her accomplishments, and her worth (if she 
have any) to as ' damned an iteration 9 as any in 
Homer's verse ! 

Passons, my dear Fritz ; we must not get heat- 
ed in this warm spring-time. 

Tophanes has furnished me, in furtherance of 
this humor, which has just now seized me, a few 
transcripts from the journal of a lady ' in society.' 
It will I know amuse you, although it is not alto- 
gether an artistic performance ; at the same time 
it does high credit to the class in which it found 
its authorship. It is naive, straight-forward, and 
clearly written, without any suspicion of its being 
one day laid before the public. To the present 
state of popular taste, I am sure that nothing could 
prove a higher commendation. 



JOURNAL OF A LADY. 173 

JOURNAL OF A LADY IN SOCIETY. 

" A lady's morning work : we rise, make fine, 
Sit for our picture, and 'tis time to dine." 

J. Shirley. 

Wednesday. — What a sweet man that Signor 
Birbone is. But then pshaw, only a teacher ! I 
must dress particularly well to-night ; am to meet 
Kawton they say — a love of a name ; and one of the 
most fascinating men in society. Why don't Martel 
send home that crimson head-dress ? It's so becom- 
ing, the J s say ; and I haven't worn it now 

these three evenings. I think my voice is good to- 
night. L has promised to urge me to sing; 

hope Strinski won't offer for the accompaniment ; 
he is so anxious that everybody should admire his 
playing, that he never has done with his inter- 
ludes. 

Marie is getting careless about my hair ; must 
give her the porte monnaie that Stiver gave me the 
other day, and if Figgins sends a bouquet to-day, 
will let her carry it to the Minerva. What a dull 
time this Lent, and black doesn't become me at 
all ; I can't look solemn without giving that bad 
expression to my lip. 

Thursday. — Well, what a time, to be sure ! 

Kawton is fascinating, very. How prettily he paid 

that compliment about American women, so much 
17 



174 THE LORGNETTE 

prettier than Europeans — such complexions ; and 
he looked very hard at my neck. (N. B. Must be 
more careful about the pearl powder; Ma said 
she saw it yesterday on my forehead.) And then 
he polks so sweetly ; I never felt easier in all my 
life ; I wonder if he has money ? To be sure, 
Mathilde says he's a great toady, but then he's a 
club-man, and knows so many distinguished men, I 
hardly know if I baited him enough : — to be sure, 
I didn't ask him to call ; but then I told him what 
a delightful street this was, and that Papa said he 
wouldn't live in any other — so delightful, too, to 
be on a corner ; surely he must remember. 

Positively, I will not dance any more with that 
odious Scratch. Papa says I must not treat him 
rudely ; he is very rich ; but he waltzes so horribly, 

and then ! As for marrying him, it's 

another matter ; but I needn't hurry ; twenty-five 
isn't very old ; and I know I can catch the old fel- 
low any time. He is quite desperate, I am sure of 
it. How I should like to stir up a quarrel between 
him and F ; how they would talk ! 

Saw Noddle ; he talks everlastingly ; very well, 
they say ; but who wants to hear talk at a ball ? 
Besides, he admires every pretty girl he sees — the 
puppy ! 

Monday. — Went yesterday to Grace with tho 



A LADYS' JOURNAL. 175 

Fidges — a most delightful place ; hope Papa will 
take a seat there ; everybody listens so stupidly at 
Dr. Hawks'. I do wish Strinski wouldn't talk 
French to me in society ; it's so embarrassing ! 
besides, there's no knowing who may hear you, and 
you may make faults ; caught myself tutoying 
him the other evening, as if I had been talking to 

Marie ! how provoking ; if it had been S 

wouldn't have cared ; it might have set him on ; he 
is too modest. 

Tuesday. — Was pale last night, but wore the 
crimson head-dress, and took a seat near the scarlet 
curtains. I must try and send to Paris for some 
more of those gaiter boots, they are so pretty. 
Marie has been trying to show me how to hold up 
my dress as the French women do ; it's difficult, 
but then it's worth a little study. 

"What a handsome German teacher Miss Muggs 
has got ! I wonder if I had not better learn Ger- 
man ? I'll tell Papa that Dr. T has recom 

mended it ; besides, it's very well to sing snatches 
from the German Opera ; it gives an idea of culti- 
vation. I wonder where Mrs. Fidge gets that de- 
lightful perfume, and then she never has too much ; 
must remember to let Marie smell me, before I go 
out another evening. Miss Q,uiz asked me the 



176 THE LORGNETTE. 

other day what had become of Snap, who used 
to be so attentive ? Oh, I told her, we were capital 
friends, better than ever, — and looked very consci- 
ous ; dare say she will think I've given him the 
mitten ; I do hope she will, for she is just the per- 
son who will tell it all over town. 

Thursday. — Walked up street the other day with 

ex-President . "What a dear, good man ! And 

then such a feather to be seen walking with him. 
The Hidges saw me, and looked daggers ; the 
Simpkins bowed two or three times ; how very 
friendly they are getting ! I wonder if we girls 

couldn't get up a class in reading with Prof. ; 

they say he is so agreeable ; and then it gives a 
delightful chance to practice ; one can ask such 
funny questions, and all so honest. He isn't mar- 
ried either, and if I could only get him desperate ! 
for they say these literary characters do get des- 
perate ; and how delightful if he'd only propose, 
and then go off in a consumption. Heigho — how 
sleepy I am ! 

Friday. — I do wish that odious Miss Thingum 
wouldn't be so familiar in the street ; people will 
begin to call us intimates, and I am sure she's over 
forty. She's very kind, certainly, but I don't like 
to invite her to my soirees, she is so matronizing 



^%%^ -£idi r L 




THE LlDI IN SOCIETY. 



A LADY'S JOURNAL. 177 

and old maidish ; I must send the carriage for her 
some rainy morning, and ask her if she won't come 
and pass the day. 

Sister Belle is beginning to be admired ; how 
strange, and she only sixteen ! — must insist on her 
wearing plainer clothes ; must tell T amraa that the 
hat is altogether too gay for a person of her age. 

Saturday. — Went to the Opera last night ; For- 

ti was quite divine ; at least M said so, and 

it's safe to say it. Mr. D came to our box, 

and chatted for half an hour, — a horrid creature ; 
strange that he can't learn how disagreeable he is, 
and not at all tonnish ; yet they say he is very 

clever — quite an ornament at Miss L s. It's 

very well though ? upon the whole, to have a chat ; 
it relieves the uniformity of one's face ; besides, if 
any one asks me who it was, I can say,— oh, he 
says such clever things ! 

Saw Stroskinski in the Miggs' box ; what a 
moustache he has got ! Must ask them to present 
me ; they say he is all the rage. 

Tuesday. — Met the Miggs' at the party ; — prom- 
ised to introduce Stroskinski, but didn't, though 
they danced three sets with him. I suppose Mabel 
wants to keep him to herself; — I'll pay her, the 
minx ! 

Had to dance with that little puppy, Spindle ; 
17* 



178 THE LORGNETTE. 

couldn't refuse, because he is of good family, and 
amiable as a country girl. He hasn't got a leg big- 
ger than a pipe-stem, — and such a beard ! Mean to 
cut off a little fur from the cat, and send him for a 
valentine " mon chat, Monsieur, d voire chin.'' 

How it helps a flirtation to drink a little cham- 
pagne. Upon my word, I carried it off capitally last 
night. "What little squeezes one can give a gentle- 
man's hand ; and then the polka after two or three 
glasses — upon my word, it is charming ! I must 
get seme of those brandy lozenges Miss Fidge told 
me of ; she says, they go straight to one's head. 

I must learn, too, some more of those tender 
French expressions from Marie ; it's a sweet, pret- 
ty language ; have begun to read Raphael the third 
time. 

Wednesday. — How handsome Bidkins is ; and 
rich too, they say, but so shy. Danced the polka 
with him last night ; told him I adored it : but he 
put his arm about me as if he were handling a 
Vestal — yet I leaned on him very hard ; how stupid 
some men are . I think he must be a Presbyte- 
rian. I told him I was engaged for the next waltz, 
and asked him if he liked waltzing. He said he 
did — ' rather.' I can't hook him. 

I do wish I knew those Fudges ; they give such 
delightful parties ; everybody talks about them ; 



A LADYS' JOURNAL. 179 

must persuade papa to go to the same watering- 
place with them next summer ; then I think I can 
manage it, particularly if Pa takes his carriage ; 
I can get an introduction, and of course they won't 
object to make a convenience of our carriage. 
What a silly fellow Bunkum is. It's plain enough 
he wants to please me, but he don't know how ; — 
only to think of his praising the Squids ! To be 
sure they are good friends of mine ; but then they 
are pretty, very pretty. And then, too, the idea 
of disputing me about the pictures, and trying to 
set me right, — the coxcomb ! They say he has ex- 
cellent taste ; for my part, I should like to see it. 

Thursday. — Heigho — two bouquets ; one from 
little Fidge ; what is the boy thinking of ? I sup- 
pose he's heard them talk at the club of sending 
bouquets to belles ; however, he is rich, and when 
he grows up, will, I dare say, be good for some- 
thing ; — must thank him kindly, and keep him in 
tow. Besides, he is very useful ; he never objects 
to escort one — puts on shawls, and picks up the 
pins that you drop, and will go back for your ball 
slippers; — oh no, it would be very ungrateful to 
slight little Fidge ! 

As for the other bouquet, it has no card ; who 
can it be from ? There's the handsome music 
teacher, I wonder if he would dare ? Well, I will 



180 THE LORGNETTE. 

have it in my hand when he comes, and ask hlmi 11 
it isn't sweet — watch if his fingers tremble wi;°.i 
he takes it : and then I'll pull out a little flowei 
from it — a forget-me-not, if there is one — and pui 
it in my bosom. (Mem. to wear the open morning 
dress, with lace.) The poor fellow, he'll hardly 
have strength to get through his lesson ! What il 
he should make love to me upon the strength of it ; 
— how delightful ! 

I am not sure whether it is best to be confirmed ; 

Dr. H urges me ; but Miss Hicks, who is in 

the best society, tells me not to be in a hurry. So 
far as church attendance and devotion go, it's very 
well ; it offers good contrast to one's action at a 
ball, and you get the good opinion of a great many 
proper ladies of excellent families ; but then on Ash 
Wednesday, or any time in Lent, it may be very 
inconvenient; mean to consult the Squids about it. 

At any rate, I must buy a book of sermons to 
have on a side table — get them bound up with a 
little cross on the outside. I wonder if Dr. Grris- 
wold hasn't written any good ones ? 

I am sure, Fritz, you will have been delighted 
with this fragmentary journal ; isn't it na'ive and 
earnest? Indeed, if I had any suspicion of who 
was the author, I would address her a complimen- 



MR- BROWNE, 181 

tary note, and insist upon being favored with fur- 
ther extracts ; and if she will have the kindness to 
address her card, or any further communication, 
to John Timon, at Mr. Kornot's bookstore, she 
would confer a special favor. 

I have already freely offered the use of my paper 
to such persons as might feel aggrieved by any im- 
agined personal allusions ; and it is in virtue of 
this offer that I give place to a feeling letter, which 
seems to have been drawn up by the counsel of the 
person whose character has been unfortunately im- 
pugned. It is needless to say, that in alluding to 
Mr. Browne, (of whose name I had no knowledge 
except through my friend Tophanes,) I was utterly 
unconscious of doing injustice to a meritorious and 
useful member of society. Far be it from me to 
wound the feelings or to harm the business of any 
individual whose merits are so striking and timely 
as those set forth in the letter below : — least of all, 
an individual whose connection with the church 
should screen him from hasty or injudicious re- 
mark. My sense of propriety, as well as what is 
due to the Holy Catholic Church, would forbid. 

Tophanes thinks from the style of the letter, that 
it may have been drafted by a distinguished mem- 
ber of the bar, Mr. B y. 



182 the lorgnette. 

Mr. Timon : 

Sir, — In some of your papers you have made 
flippant, and I think I may say, indelicate al- 
lusions to a Mr. Browne. A gentleman bear- 
ing that name, though differently spelled, has call- 
ed my attention to the fact, and has consulted me 
(an advocate and attorney at law) upon the pro- 
priety of instituting an action for damages. 

Believing, sir, that you are not insensible to the 
principles of duty and generosity, when well set 
forth, I have determined to address to you this letter 
of explanation and enunciation, which (if publish- 
ed) will set Mr. B.'s character in the right light ; 
and by its publication (as mentioned above), the 
said Mr. B. will consider himself reinstated in the 
brilliant position which, from allusions made (as 
above stated), he had reason to fear might be tem- 
porarily (so to speak) obscured. 

Mr. Browne, sir, is a man who perhaps has done 
more to the advancement of society toward its 
present elevated position than any other man, or 
indeed than any man whatever. Mr. B. not only 
possesses, by virtue of his ecclesiastical connection, 
a high moral consideration, but he is also the 
generous patron of very many young gentlemen 



A LAWYER'S LETTER. 183 

who, without Mr. B.'s services, would be sim- 
ply and purely — young men 

Mr. B.'s fees are moreover reasonable ; he has 
never over-charged, even though supplying ladies 
with gentlemen of the first water ; his arrange- 
ments are ordered in the most researcha style ; he 
gives advice in regard to the capacity of ball-rooms, 
the time of arrival, the disposition of candles, ser- 
vants, fiddlers, and hackney cabs, which few men 
are capable of doing in an equally creditable man- 
ner. Moreover, he receives with proper decorum 
unattended ladies, sees to their safe delivery — from 
their carriage — and closes the door upon them dis- 
creetly, when the affair is over. He furnishes sta- 
tistics in regard to character if desired, and can 
inform uninformed ladies in regard to pretensions, 
expectations, dancing properties, drinking disposi- 
tion, gastronomies, and temper, of most of the 
young men in society. 

Few indeed could be so poorly spared from the 
beau-monde ; and his retirement from his station 
would leave a gap that certainly no man of ordi- 
nary capacity could fill up. In that event^ sir, 
which your injudicious allusions acting on a sensi- 
tive and deserving conscience might possibly in- 
duce, the ladies of our fashionable world would be 



184 THE LORGNETTE. 

at a loss to fill up their lists, the young gentlemen 
be without a patron, the carriages would stray 
about like lost sheep, the servants be wayward and 
fitful in their movements, and the whole charm of 
our social assemblages be gone. In short, without 
Mr. Browne, the balls would be without their orna- 
ments, and the streets without a whistle. 

Picture to yourself, sir, a man in an overcoat, 
standing on the door-steps, braving the storms of 
winter and the sleet of driving clouds, hour after 
hour, — calling out to the hackmen ever and anon, 
like a watchman of old, — deprived of the oppor- 
tunity, even if he had the disposition, to go to 
the corner, for a drink, — watching over the horses 
and carriages of hundreds of dancing and immor- 
tal creatures, — and, sir, I think you will say that it 
is difficult for the mind to conceive of a higher and 
worthier philanthropy. 

I have addressed you this in justice to my client, 
and if it be published I shall consider the honor of 
my client satisfied ; otherwise, sir, the law must 
take its course. Respectfully, 

Attorney. 

As I may have some testy correspondents in fu- 
ture, who may use threats to get their letters pub- 



A LITERARY ASSISTANT. 185 

lished, I beg to say that I have associated with me 
Tophanes as a literary assistant. I shall therefore 
have at command the same means of getting out of 
scrapes that is now so generally adopted by the city 
journals ; — that is to say, in case any article may 
offend a pugnacious party, I shall have only to 
state ' that the responsible editor was absent, — that 
he deeply deplores the insertion of the offensive 
paragraph, — that he has known the offended party 
from boyhood, &c. 

To be sure, Fritz, I have a dislike of imitating 
the contemporary journals in any matter ; and it 
is only in view of getting out of scrapes that 
might endanger my incognito, that I should ever 
presume to take advantage of a popular chicane, 
v hich, to tell the truth, is as unworthy the dignity 
of a journal, as it is bemeaning to the character of 
a man. 

My publisher advises me that inquiries are nu- 
merous as to the probable length of this series of 
Studies of the Town, and he asks what answer 
shall be given. 

Tell them, Mr. Kernot, that when my whim 
changes, or the town reforms, the paper will be 
stopped. And this is as safe and credible an an- 
nouncement as any in the Literary World, or the 
18 



186 THE LORGNETTE. 

archives of the Historical Society; and the flash 
weeklies may whip it into their chit-chat sylla- 
bub, if they can. 

IlMON. 




MARCH 28, 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 9. 



" J'ai parle beaucoup de moi dans cet ouvrage, sansrecourir au pluriel. 
On ne peut me soupQonner de vanite. Je ne me nomme point : et en 
parlant de moi, onne sait pas de qui je parle." 

It is a cap; + al amusement for me, my dear Fritz, 
to listen to the world of critical remark, which our 
unpretending correspondence calls forth. But I ob- 
serve that like most criticism of the day, it is not so 
much based upon anything intrinsic, as upon the 
supposed capabilities and the reputation of its ac- 
credited author. I know no finer test, indeed, of 
the critical acumen of our literary anatomists, than 
the submission to their hands of some such amor- 
phous and anonymous matter as these very papers 
19 



188 THE LORGNETTE. 

Putting all their keenness to the work, they fancy 
they see some man's idiosyncrasy i sticking out' 
in every line, and the whole is docked off with 
some popular cant of judgment, which has attached 
by habit to the supposed writer's manner. It is 
thus that I am running the gauntlet of a hundred 
opinions, and while I have been honored with the 
praise that attaches to a popular author, I find 
at times my mirth vinegared with the stinging con- 
demnation that has swept some other unfortunate 
book-maker to literary perdition. 

One kind friend has assured me that he was 
ready to produce irrefragable evidence, founded 
on parallel passages, to prove that the Lorgnette 
was written by the author of a late popular ro- 
mance. I argued the point at length with him, 
suggesting that the resemblance might have been 
accidental or intentional, but without avail. He 
prided himself particularly on his acuteness in 
those matters. Nothing, I find, is harder, than to 
convince a critic against his will. When he finds 
that he has done me so gratuitous honor, my only 
hope is, that he will not, as is the habit with most 
of our litterateurs, seek to qualify the errors that 
his ignorance entails upon him, by the fertilitv 
and profusion of his abuse. 

An eminent Journalist has seen a relapse into a 



MY STYLE. 189 

good style, after putting on a worse one for novelty. 
Now, for my life, I can neither see any change, 
nor am conscious of any affectation. It seems to 
me now, as at the beginning, a plain matter of 
setting down just such whimseys as pop into my 
brain, in good, old-fashioned English, available 
by every well-educated man, and which even the 
boarding-school mistresses cannot willfully set 
their faces against. The truth is, I suspect, that 
the critics and authors are so full of the tricks 
of literary metamorphose, both in opinion and 
style, that they have not the charity to give 
any new ^en-man the credit of straight-forward 
honesty. 

A friend (Sheridan would have called him devil- 
ish good-natured) was most earnest in his condem- 
nation of the papers, as the flippant observations 
of a mere boy, who, he told me, was occasional 
contributor to a literary paper. Now, Heaven 
knows, that I have none but the most kindly feel- 
ing toward precocious literary boys ; but if my 
paper is to be credited to any of them, I humbly 
entreat that they would try so far to improve their 
reputations, as to render the allegation no longer a 
hideous reproach. 

I have ascertained, too, by occasional remark, 
which has been a sort of gauge to the current of 



130 THE LORGNETTE. 

literary criticism, that the town opinion is divided 
by coteries, each one of which thinks itself the spe- 
cial and heaven-appointed guardian of the national 
literary interests ; and, as is quite natural and 
humane, each clique is tooth and nail against its 
fellow. Whatever is accomplished under the 
smiles of one, is reckoned the worst heresy by the 
other ; and the two limbs of our most excellent 
Presbytery, or the ' Standing Committee' and the 
prayerful enemies of the Bishop, are not so sin- 
cerely and cordially at variance, as the literary 
coteries. 

Now, as I am not acknowledged by any of them, 
I find myself kicked about unceremoniously by all ; 
and am very much in the position of some un- 
fortunately humble Christian, who gets a fisticuff 
from the Old School, because he refuses to send 
babies to perdition, and a slap from the New, be- 
cause a partial believer in the old doctrine of Ne- 
cessity ; while he is heartily anathematized by the 
advance wing of the Mother Church, because he 
doubts the regenerating influence of Croton water, 
or has the impertinence to prefer a black gown to 
a white one. 

It amuses me not a little, to watch the preten- 
tious manner with which some middle-aged gentle- 
men condemn me ; they wear a pretty air of au- 



THE AUTHOR'S CRITICS. 19] 

thority, made good by the seductive smiles of ad- 
miring spinsters, and sustained by a large amount 
of apparent causticity and acumen. Such gentle- 
men are the inoffensive Nestors of large circles of 
very eager, and very moderately witted ladies. 
They cherish a certain cultivated frown, and con- 
demn by a twist of the lip, and are very sure never 
to praise any who may come within hearing of their 
praise, or whose proximity might throw their own 
stature into the shade. I have been myself anni- 
hilated time and again by these gentlemen ; so that 
really the weekly placard in my publisher's win- 
dow, has seemed to me an impertinence toward my 
critics, that has made me almost tremble for my 
temerity. 

Yet they are worthy, kind fellows in a quiet way, 
doing little harm in the world, highly amusing to 
their indulgent friends, and critical enough for all 
dinner purposes ; if they were ever to submit 
their observations to print, they would doubtless 
differ widely from those of the Lorgnette. I 
should be very sorry, at any rate, to think other- 
wise. 

There is another class of men who boast too 

a nil admirari air, who cultivate assiduously a 

habit of condemnation, and who maintain a great 

reputation with college boys, and under law-clerks, 

17 



192 THE LORGNETTE. 

as ' cutting fellows.' They are akin to that school 
of politicians which is bent on equalizing, by pull- 
ing back the foremost. For them, nothing is good 
enough to be done ; and nothing that is done, is 
well done. They quarrel incessantly with society, 
manners, and religion ; they venture showers of 
regrets that nothing is done to amend them ; at 
every new literary endeavor, they curl their lip ; — 
yet they do nothing. Grod forbid, Fritz, that I 
should seem to urge them to any literary task, or 
to become the innocent cause of deluging the town 
with their efforts. 

My only object is to give them this little mirror 
of themselves. They maintain character by as- 
sault : a sneer cannot be answered, therefore their 
arguments are sneers. They live by spoils : they 
are of a hybrid-hyena race, without much tooth, 
but a great deal of claw and howl : they dig at 
graves, where thoughts lie buried, and suck up with 
their toothless gums the putridity — leaving the 
bone behind. 

Not a few ladies, 'town-bred,' have put to me 
the direct question of authorship : if such ladies 
had been blessed with a little more of the politesse of 
M. de Trobriand,* and I quote him below, they would 

* " II n'est que le voile de Panonyme pour permettre ces allusions 
delicates qui trouvent toujours, quelqu' innocentes qu'elles soient, defl 



TWO LADY CRITICS. 193 

have spared a harmless old gentleman the sin of 
open denial, and been quit of a breach of proprie- 
ty, which they have committed through ignorance. 
Where is their gentle blood ? Let me warn them 
to the search. 

Qui nos commorit * melius non tungere !' clanio. 

A little, truculent, round-eyed lady, who, as I 
am informed, has been practicing a thousand arts 
for a long period of years, to win notice, and to 
thrust herself among those she worships and hates — 
the people of the ton, has condemned my papers as 
silly and foolish, and its author as a stupid fellow. 
Softly, my dear Madam ; indeed, you must not 
wince because I have unmasked your arts : by so 
doing, you will only individuate yourself among 
the innocent toadyists of our 'great:', and your 
disapproval, so far from weakening the reputation 
of my paper, will, I am sure, among those who 
know you best, add a laurel to my humble chaplet. 

Another ci-devant belle, of worshipful memory, 
whose triumph-age has now passed, leaving to her 
few of the rational pleasures of the fireside, has 
told me that she thought the Lorgnette very in- 

consciences chatouilleuses toute pretes a se gendarmer a la moindre 
piqure, et quand on en use avec autant de discretion, c'est une curiosite 
blamable que de s'efforcer d'en penetrer le secret." — Un ulil a la 
Lorgnette 



194 THE LORGNETTE. 

sipid ; and in an excess of indignation, had burned 
the numbers. She regretted that she had not 
provided herself with the ' Squints ;' I joined 
cordially in her regret, and expressed myself cer- 
tain, that the desired work would be much more to 
her taste. A belle passee, who has exhausted all 
moderate means of mental excitation, and whose 
vanities are sickening under the neglects that age 
brings in its train, has no resource but in the 
piquancy of ribaldry, or the grossness of open 
license. As the passions of our merely worldly 
women grow too faint for fleshly gratification, or 
their charms too small to ensure it, they will in- 
evitably run toward the debauchery of books, and 
gloaf over the lusts of the pen. 

These prefatory sketches are not, my dear Fritz, 
foreign to my aim ; they give you, well as anything 
can, an idea of the currents, and opinions of our 
town life. We will return now to our special por- 
traitures. 



THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 

'•' The town as usual, met her in full cry ; 
The town as usual, knew no reason why." — Churchill. 

" The husband or father, me thinks, is like Ocnus in the fable, who 

is perpetually winding a rope of hay, and an ass at the end perpetually 
eating it." — Cowley. 

The fashionable lady is born of reputable parents 



THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 195 

— not always of genteel, or even respectable pa- 
rents — but reputable ones. Her early years are 
passed variously between baby-jumpers, and wet- 
nurses. "While at a tender age, she is taught the 
advantages of dress by becoming lessons, and by 
practice in very short petticoats, and very long 
white stockings, as well as a hat, shaped like an 
inverted slop-bowl, with proper quantity of ribbon 
and flowers — to match. She toddles out in frills, 
small sun-shade, and white gloves, with a shrewd 
nurse, who has an eye 'for folks what is folks;' 
and she may frequently be seen, with her nose 
curiously flattened against the window of her 
mother's coach. 

She is taught early the impropriety of going out 
alone, or of democratic, and careless association 
with the neighbors' children. Her toy-books are 
well selected ; and her library is specially rich in 
those, which, as the advertisement says, have given 
unfeigned delight to their numerous Royal High- 
nesses — the children of Victoria. By these the 
young fashionable lady is supposed to gain right 
ideas about aristocracy of sentiment, and oourtly 
proprieties. She is, moreover, favored with the 
moral teaching and talking of a femme de chambre, 
nominally from Paris, but literally, and pronun- 
ciation-ly, from the Auvergne. 



196 THE LORGNETTE. 

She is taught to look with proper languishment 
upon little fashionable boys, and makes early ac- 
quaintance with a cheap, second-story hair-dresser. 
She is taken to Grace Church in her best hat and 
gloves, — is pinched to kneel, and pinched again to 
incline herself prettily in the confession. She is 
told what a charming Christian place it is — is in- 
doctrinated as to the ends and aims of such a de- 
lightful religious assembly-room, and is taught to 
look, with becoming feelings of pity, upon such 
poor outcast creatures as go to other churches. 

She spends four years at school — the most ex- 
pensive accessible — where she learns that Europe 
is quite populous and gay ; — that America is yet in 
its infancy ; — that republic is the name of our go- 
vernment ; — that Franklin drew down philosophy 
from heaven, with a small kite-string ; — that tri- 
cotage is of many sorts ; and that literature con- 
sists mainly of Tennyson's poems, Byron's tales, 
Shakespeare, Professor Longfellow, Tupper's Phi- 
losophy, and Mister Tuckerman. 

She learns collaterally, that the French is the 
court language, and so, very desirable, — that 
the Latin is technically 'dead,' — that the waltz 
and polka are of the same family, and that 
the chief end of man is to get houses, and to 
behusband women. She is further taught, at a 



THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 197 

surprisingly early age, the nature and uses of fans, 
of beaux, of chemisettes, of gloves, the comparative 
effects of plaid and stripes, the disposition of cuffs, 
and the chemical nature of perfumery and aman- 
dine. She catches early at the distinction between 
moustache and whiskers, and has a correct general 
idea of sack-coats and imperials. 

She is put, at a certain stage of her educational 
career, under the charge of some literary gentle- 
man of quick wit and persuasive address, who ex- 
pounds to her fine passages of the poets, and impor- 
tant epochs in history ; all which is presented in an 
attractive chit-chat shape, admirably adapted to 
the ends in view. 

She graduates in a pretty hat, with a deft use 
of the fan, a passable familiarity with French ta- 
ble-talk, an Italian song or two, a smart capacity 
for purse-knitting, a general idea of the geographi- 
cal divisions of the globe, and some few axioms of 
political economy :— such as, that money is neces- 
sary to luxury — that lace has a tendency to become 
soiled — that the best gloves are manufactured in 
Paris — that camphene will clean them, and that 
the law of divorce is a sort of moral make-shift. 

Now comes on her age of practice, — practice of 
French talk, piano practice, practice of coquetries, 
waltzing practice, and Christian practice. In each 



198 THE LORGNETTE. 

of these she has practical professors, well taught, 
of the highest prices, and fully equal to their busi- 
ness. They will perfect a young lady of parts, in a 
surprisingly short time. 

Her ' coming out,' if adroitly managed, will be 
a very taking card : it should not be too early or 
too late, and will depend much on the strength, 
height, and bodily capacity of the subject — on the 
views of the advising aunts, and on the compara- 
tive attractions and prospects of elder sisters. Thus, 
a female member of a family, who has reached the 
age of twenty -five, without inspiring any very ten- 
der emotions, would do well to keep a junior sister 
in pantalets, as long as propriety or prudery will 
allow. If fairly 'engaged' before the age specified, 
a year or two may be safely docked off from her 
sister's probationary, and small-girl state. In the 
case of several sisters whose looks are not killingly 
captivating, the youngest will be apt to fare like 
Cinderella in the ash-heap, and will run a sad 
chance of nursery-tails, and short dresses, up to an 
unfortunate maturity. 

The ' coming out ' will indeed sometimes depend 
on the mental development and age of the individ- 
ual, and more rarely upon the common sense of the 
parties. Great preparations must be made, and 
assiduous efforts to secure the presence of certain 



THE FASHIONABLE EDUCATION. 199 

well-known leaders of the ton. There will be con- 
ferences with Martel, and distinguished chaperon 
spinsters — to say nothing of those enterprising gen- 
tlemen, Messrs. Browne and Weller. 

If the mamma has the misfortune to be merely 
respectable, the fashionable young lady will gain 
upon her by wide steps, and comes soon to regard 
her with due sentiments of pity. She instructs her 
mother as to what soirees she had better attend, 
and gives her discretionary advice about remaining 
in the corner. She puts forward all her powers of 
fascination, to attach to herself fashionable young 
men ; and though at first, she will find herself 
obliged to dance with very indifferent persons who 
are i not much in society,' she must yet be discreet 
in her refusals at this early stage of her career. 

A little extra freedom in the waltz, if gracefully 
caught, will not harm her prospects, but will rather 
add a piquancy to her style, which if duly cultiva- 
ted may come to counterbalance the most uninter- 
esting face in the world. She should not be im- 
measurably shocked at any double entendres she 
may hear, but should credit them to a higher state 
of fashionable culture than she has yet reached. 
She might safely bear in mind, in this connection, 
the advice Madame de Sevigne gives her daughter : 

4 Tachez mon enfant, de vous ajusler aux rnxurs et 
20 



200 Til*: LORGNETTE. 

aux manieres des gens avcc quivous avez a vivre ; 
ne cot's degoutez point de ce qui ri 'est que medio- 
cre ; fiites vous un plaisir de ce qui rtest pas ridi~ 
culeJ 

As town fashion, like the town literature, is divi- 
ded into numerous conflicting cliques, she would 
do weil to select the most promising, and attach 
herself firmly to it. This she can easily do by 
lavishing very special praises upon all its members, 
and still better, by hearty abuse of any rival clique. 
It will not be reckoned indeed (as the opinion 
runs), any gieat sacrifice of dignity, if she should 
become the attachee of some enterprising lady of 
fashion, whose suppers are good, whose balls are 
splendid, whose religion is fair, and whose position 
is undoubted. 

The summer campaign, if rightly directed, will 
be of essential service. She can easily ascertain, 
by a lictie careful observation, the probable current 
of the rrore fashionable l sets ;' and she will throw 
herself, inadvertem-ly as it were, into the drift. 
Th°^ United Stages at Saratoga, the Ocean House at 
Newport, ana tLc Pavilion of Sharon, are upon the 
whole safe places, and much may be effected in the 
incipient stages of fashionable growth, at either one 
Still she must be careful of her times ; a visit too 
early in the Summer might do her serious damage, 



THE SPRINGS. 201 

and an arrival just previous to the height of the 
season will work capitally well. 

She should be cautious, however, of meeting any 
shabby country friends at either place ; and to this 
end, should carry on an active correspondence for a 
week or two in advance, with her country cousins 
— engaging to meet them late in the season, A 
thin old lady in calico, who says, ' our folks,' or a 
young man who dresses in a flimsey, black dress- 
coat of a morning, who carries a baggy cotton um- 
brella, and who blows his nose on the ' stoop,' with 
a 'silk handkercher,' might do her serious damage. 

She should also be quite sure that she will not 
be overtopped, — that is, that she will not be ' cut' 
by any established habitue ; rather than expose her- 
self to such deterioration, she would do well to 
postpone her visit. If the Papa, in any matter-of- 
fact way, sets his face against an expenditure he 
cannot afford, and proves deaf to all entreaties for 
the ' Springs,' she must change her tactics ; in that 
case she would do well to speak deprecatingly of 
the fashionable places, as being altogether 'too 
mixed,' — drop hints about barbers, and bar-tenders 
in moustache, — ' no knowing who one will fall in 
with,' — c for her part she cannot bear it !' If this 
is well executed, it will be very telling. 

If a fancy ball should take place within her per- 



202 THE LORGNETTK. 

mission, she will select such dress as bears a fair 
stamp of gentility, by having been already honored 
with the wearing of some lady of distinction. She 
will farther, by dint of a few coy and well-covered 
hints to a gentleman friend, who knows the Express 
writers, accidentally make their acquaintance ; 
and then, her Saracco and boudoir education has 
been surely very poor, if she do not so beguile the 
poor devils with her dance and smiles, as to secure 
for herself a charming period about taper ancles, 
and bust of Hebe, which will, of course, set her up 
for the winter. 

Her preparatives for the town season must be di- 
rected with care and energy. Dress, she should 
be slow to decide upon until the * leaders' have given 
their orders ; and by a proper intimacy (spiced with 
free use of money) with Miss Lawson, she will 
learn in advance what Mesdames So-and-so have 
ordered, and will, by a singular coincidence, hit 
upon the same. No wide difference from the popu- 
lar standard will be advisable, unless indeed, the 
lady set up for an eccentric, or have recently re- 
turned from abroad ; and even in the latter case, 
there will be needed a strong savor of previous re- 
spectability, and good connections, to legitimatize 
any outre trimmings of either hat or cloak. "With 
the vantage ground, however, of established posi- 



THE OPERA TACTICS. 203 

tion, an extravagance will be smiled upon, and the 
' second rates' will be taught by conspicuous ex- 
ample, that the popular idea, that Paris ladies 
adapt their fashions of dress to the style of the 
wearer, is a great mistake. 

The Opera must not be forgotten ; whatever may 
be one's love of music, it would be well to cultivate 
a slight knowledge of the operatic art, a familiarity 
with the more popular pieces, and effective criti- 
cisms upon the different musical composers. If the 
fashionable lady has been abroad, aL this will be 
at once presumed, and her air of indifference will be 
the most naive in the world. She must, moreover, 
secure a bevy of tonnish visitors at her box ; noth- 
ing short of it will sustain her rank. For instance, 
it would be well to make sure cPavance of at least 
one unmistakeable moustache, one journalist, one 
foreigner, one ' handsome' man, one ' clever' man, 
one young professional man of creditable position, 
and a husband who is understood to be on uneasy 
terms with his wife. A boy in wide white cravat 
may be treated with provoking carelessness ; and a 
polka dancer of doubtful grace, should be met with 
equal indifference. A country cousin, who hap- 
pens to be in town, should be tolled off with a free 
ticket to a concert. 

If sure of the place, and has seen a particular air 
20* 



204 THE LOUGXETTE. 

applauded at the Queen's Theatre, she may clap 
her hands, when all around are gossiping ; unless 
indeed? some lady of foreign birth should be near, 
who would remark the exception. The fashionable 
lady, if well instructed, will not be astonished at 
any strange burst of music, or any eccentricities of 
the singers. Indeed, she will never manifest sur- 
prise, except when saluted cordially by some lady of 
an under set. She will look patronizingly toward 
young ladies of ' family,' and regard only through 
her opera-glass, the beauties who are not yet 'in 
society.' 

After a winter or two of such experience, and 
an open acquaintance with gentlemen of acknowl- 
edged fashion, she can cast off the leading string 
of her chaperons, and live her own life of fashion, 
as proudly, and reasonably independent, as the 
belly-full beggar in the play ; — 

Non ego nunc parasitus sum, sed regum rex regalior; 
(Tantus ventri commeatus meo adest in portu cibus.)* 

Meantime, she is not supposed to be insensible 
(few ladies are) to the virtues and necessities of a 
husbanl. Threo reasons of single life display, if 
the face wears well, Lre the minimum for a fashiona- 

* Plautus, Capteivei, iv. 2. The clever critic of the Literary World, who 
has detected in my papers a classical inaccuracy, will correct me if I am 
wrong, and will confer a special favor by multiplying his 'instances' of 
1 bad citations.' 



THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 205 

Lie lady ; and as for the maximum, I fear I should 
offend some very tender friends of mine, by even 
hinting at its period. 

"When the matter, however, really becomes seri- 
ous, there must be a concentration of effort on the 
part of our fashionable lady, to which her past life 
has been altogether a stranger. It will not do at 
all to retain the old flippancy when talking with 
bald-headed bachelors of a certain age, who are 
understood to be living on ' their means.' 

It will be well, moreover, to practice a little sell- 
denial in the polka, and not wear so languishing 
an air with the young bucks, when the marriagea- 
ble gentlemen are looking on. She may even ven- 
ture, on extraordinary occasions, to abandon the 
polka altogether, and her church virtues (not al- 
ways Christian ones) should, in view of marriage, 
be punctiliously attended to. Of course, she will 
have a running knowledge of ' expectancies,' and 
will detect easily how far the candidate is of a com- 
pliant and yielding disposition. A little eminence 
of position by marriage with a lion, is not to be 
overlooked by the fashionable lady ; but if she have 
sober judgment in the matter, she will see that it 
is infinitely better to become the lion herself, by 
overtopping the husband, and by possession of 
abundant means. 



206 THE LORGNETTE. 

Having through papa negotiated the preliminary 
terms of a ' brilliant match,' she appears at care- 
less exhibitory intervals, upon the public walks of 
the town, never forgetting herself so much as to 
show a spark of enthusiasm, and never so natural 
as to indulge in regrets. 

The wedding is the occasion for picking up and 
cementing together, by engraved reception cards, 
the dispersed fashionable elements which belong to 
the respective ' sets ' of both parties. The ceremony 
must not be without its tclat. The bridal presents, 
disposed with a proper eye to our growing Repub- 
lican magnificence, will make the talk of the bou- 
doir and salon ; and the lace veil of the church, 
and some manifest extravagances of dress, will give 
chat material to gaping lookers-on, and the showy 
finish to a ' City Item.' 

And yet, Fritz, — such is the morale of our town — 
you shall find that this very item eulogist, who will 
panegyrize the splendor of the ceremony, the mag- 
nificence of the dresses, the style of the equipages, 
to purchase a familiar nod, or possibly an invita- 
tion to a ' crush' of the winter, will, in his private 
mood, vapor lustily against the town-worship of 
wealth, and the bestiality of that appreciation 
which measures everything by its capacity for dis- 
play. Such is the sincerity and purpose of our cen- 



THE WORSHIP OF WEALTH. 207 

sors of public taste ; bowing the Baal knee to every 
manifestation of wealth, where the obeisance may 
stand them in small stead, and loosening their pent- 
up vanities only in the bar-rooms, and in the street, 
against the wretched artificiality of our distinc- 
tions. In private, they are cynics ; and in print, 
the veriest lick-spittles of us all ! 

G-od forbid, Fritz, that you in your luxurious 
country quarters, should see in all this, a covert 
sneer at wealth; in our country it must long be, 
and properly is a great measurer of force ; and by 
force, I mean character, talent, activity, and men- 
tal leverage. It is the forerunner, too, of those com- 
forts and that indulgence which give time and room 
for cultivation ; it is the grand furnace-warmer of 
those nursery-beds from which sprout up the trop- 
ical crop of refined luxuries. But in Heaven's name, 
let us honor it, for what it is, and not for what it is 
not ; most of all, let us avoid that particular falla- 
cy which sees in wealth the essence, and not the 
provocative of refinement. 

It would be invidious, as well as fill too much 
space, to say how many in our town are essentially 
and brutally vulgar, in the possession of ample for- 
tune : how many are making brilliant show with 
equipages and with coats-of-arms — listening with 
fashionable earnestness to the hand-organ-like lee- 



208 THE LORGNETTE. 

tures of Mr. Lord, and who are yet as ignorant of 
Abelard as of modesty, and whose library books 
are but painted backs. What would you say, too, 
to foul crockery and cotton napkins, within a palace 
of freestone, or to the vulgarity of that wealth, wilich 
seeks only the outward and flagrant means of ad- 
dressing the money-worshiping eye, and which is 
satisfied with the stare and livery of ignorant coach- 
men, as the most grateful incense to its deity, and 
with the sickly mention of pamphleteers and news- 
paper item, as the sweetest token of its honor? 

It would be odious, too, to mention how much of 
this very pabulum that feeds display, has been 
gained by most deceptive practices — not, indeed, 
coming within the court calendar of villanies, but 
that worthier and more honorable list of chicane- 
ries, which are too mean to have been anticipated 
by law-givers, and which even our New Code men, 
with all their quickness at littlenesses, did not be- 
lieve the race to have been capable of. 

To be sure, there is a hatred of wealth, due to the 
smallest of our litterateurs, who boast of refinement 
without possessing any trace of that fine soul-thread 
of gentleness, running with every nerve, and which 
constitutes the life-artery of thorough breeding. 
This I will cordially join you in condemning, and 
with G-od's help, will do what is in my power to 



MARRIAGE OF THE FASHIONABLE LADY. 209 

dissipate that prurient affectation of superiority, 
which the reading of current books, familiarity with 
newspaper columns, and an unscholarly handling 
of the pen induces — but which is without the sav- 
ing virtue of that high and true soul-refinement, 
which must lie deep-seated in the man — which 
must have had its office in every step of his educa- 
tion, and in every shadow of his action ; and which 
will make his bearing and his words as unmistake- 
able as the presence of genius. 

But we are losing sight of our fashionable lady. 
With marriage, her best life of show is only be- 
gun. She can now run riot in a thousand friv- 
olities without periling her chance. Her ambition, 
which before may have been bounded by some 
vague traditions of virginal delicacy, is now wide 
in its range. Yet withal she will be punctilious in 
her church duties ; she may even wear a matronly 
air; and will be specially coy of manifesting any 
vulgar attachment to her husband or household. 
She is now mistress of her establishment, and it 
will be the fault or failing of her husband's com- 
merce, if it do not shine with all those attractions 
which decoy the vagrant peacocks of the hour. 

A little whispered license will add zest to her 
company, and bring her sociale nearer to the 
Parisian standard. Perhaps a European tour, by 



210 THE LORGNETTE. 

post, a smuggled ticket to Torlonia's, ana a culti- 
vated intimacy with such Paris society, as will wel- 
come money, and will pay in the loose coin of social 
teaching, and the piquant equivoques of conver- 
sational intrigue, will open her eyes wider to the 
mysteries and delights of higher fashion 

Perhaps with some faint remnants of a better 
feeling, tracing its beginnings to a comparatively 
harmless childhood, she will sigh at the vanities 
which surround her, and the deceptions which 
mock the little sense of truth that remains ; # but 
there is no escape ; the distinguished husband, the 
leader of the ton, has got no ear for the foolish 
confidences of a repining lady, or for the sharp- 
uttered sentiments of disgust, which their common 
life has ripened. She is bound by brazen bands to 
a set — the first set — which has demands upon her, 
unceasing and regular, for her quota of the stimuli 
of fashionable action. 

So she lives, staving off age long as she can, 
with all the appliances of a quickened and nervously 
unquiet ingenuity ; but time will press her, and 
will, before long, strand her withered and colorless 
hulk upon the beach of age ; her silken sails will flap 
idly against the rotting spars, and will fill no long- 

* The kind letter of a lady correspondent, apropos to this topic, is 
thankfully acknowledged. John Timon presents his best compliments, 
and will be happy to hear from her farther. 



THE FASHIONABLE DEATH. 211 

cr under the breath of fashionable applause ; all 
the kedges of her golden cables will not drag her 
back to the stream of popular favor. 

At length she dies ; she is buried by the gentle- 
manly sexton, who has so ably superintended her 
partiss ; she is honored, perhaps, with a patent 
metallic sarcophagus, and goes — where ? 

Where should she go (if it is not impertinent to 
ask), to culminate that life which has had its care- 
ful beginnings here ? Where shall she mature 
those projects of town rank, those pretty polka de- 
vices, those studies of street display, which have 
been the aim of her mortal wishes ? I wonder if 
the pretty light of the Grace Church windows will 
reach high enough to light her, or the carriages at 
the door be stanch enough to carry her, of them- 
selves, all the way to heaven? The Devil, surely, 
with all his malice, will not overlook the claims of 
those who have been laboring through a long life 
for a position in the ' first society ;' and he will, 
without doubt, give invitations for the most re- 
cherche of his evening parties, to very many of our 
1 leaders of the ton.' 

Seriously, Fritz, — what benevolence, what ra- 
tional action, what generous self-denying endea- 
vor, will help our fashionable lady toward that 
species of future happiness which, however the 
21 



212 THE LORGNETTE. 

Doctors may disagree, is very sure not to be made up 
precisely, of Forti's singing, or Saratoga Springs ? 
Under which item of the ' Sermon on the Mount ' 
shall we reckon her dawning chances? Upon 
what text shall the Doctor preach her funeral 
eulogy ? John Timon offers this from the Psalms ; — 
(and if the Doctors were as honest as they are poli- 
tic, they could not find a better) — ' They have 
dreamed out their dream, and awakening, have 
found nothing in their hands V 

I leave it all, Fritz, the text, the woman, and 
the 'improvement,' to the preacher ; — not the ele- 
gant preacher of a fashionable assemblage, nor the 
respectable preacher of a Presbyterian hierarchy, 
nor the absolution of a political Bishop, nor the 
moral novels of a seceding clergyman, but with the 
best preacher of all — the individual conscience. 
And if our fashionable lady has not smothered his 
talk already, let her listen while she can. 

This is uncommonly sober talk, my dear Fritz, 
for an Opera-goer ; but, remember, that we are 
breathing now in the breast of Lent ; and the 
gray hairs, and the fleeting time warn me, that 
such talk may not ' fall to the ground,' even in 
the careless pages of a gossiping essayist. 

Timon. 




APRIL 4, 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 10, 



" As in geometry, the oblique must be known, as well as the right ; 
and in arithmetic, the odd as well as the even ; so in actions of life, who 
seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a great foil to perceive the beau- 
ty of virtue." — Sir Philip Sidney. 



" Mr. Timon: — I am astonished at you, my dear 
sir ; why do you speak so harshly of the town la- 
dies, and present them in so unfavorable lights ? 
I have been all along a most excellent friend to 
your paper, and have, time and again, defended 
you against most merciless assaults ; but if you 
do not speedily amend, and speak better of us, I 
shall leave you to defend yourself. 
" Yours indignantly, 

"A Lady." 
22 



214 THE LORGNETTE. 

This little fragment of a letter touches me ten- 
derly, and shall have a full and courteous notice ; 
which, if it do not serve as vindication of my ac- 
tion, will at least certify to my well-disposed cor- 
respondent, the influence of her advices, and the 
honesty of my disposition. 

You, my dear Fritz, will I am sure be greatly 
surprised to find me, who have been so long, and 
untiringly the devoted friend, and admirer of the 
gentler sex, suddenly become the object of their 
frowns and animadversions. It is but poor remu- 
neration, surely, for a life spent in devotional 
exercises toward the reigning half of Christendom, 
to find myself subjected to the imputation of 
libelous assault, and to the most heinous of all 
charges — that of lack of gallantry. When you 
recall, Fritz, my Quixotic career, scattered over 
as it has been, with innumerable hazards, and such 
hair -breadth escapes, as would have done honor to 
the hero of La Mancha, or Santillane, you will 
smile to think that any should be hardy enough to 
impugn the action of my maturer age, and to 
credit to unworthy motives, those whimsical obser- 
vations of mine, which are half made up of irony, 
and half of covert praise. You will recognize the 
apparent acerbity as only the occasional and de- 
lirious excess of the fever of a life-long gallantry— 
the accidental and interrupted lance-thrusts of an 



AN APOLOGY. 215 

old knight who trembles in his stirrups, and whose 
blow is rendered only the more uncertain by rea- 
son of the warmth of his blood, and the ecstasy of 
his admiration. 

True regard does not gloss over errors in the 
objects of its attachment, but rather by judicious 
mention of such as appear, seeks to win them 
away from their occasional sinnings, and make 
them worthier of that respect which grows by 
witness of reform, and which covets excellence. 

I have spoken, it may be, somewhat harshly, 
and in castigating humor (if such humor can be 
predicated of a mild old gentleman's remark) of 
many of the ways of the fashionable ladies of the 
hour ; and if I have been a little extravagant, it 
was only in the hope of frighting away from the 
worst vanities of the town life, by exhibiting them 
through the magnifying lenses of my glass. And 
even supposing all to be real and unexaggerated, — 
about which point I foresee that there will be much 
difference of opinion, — yet I should in no whit 
blame myself for the representation, but rather be 
emboldened by the conviction, that I should still 
possess the sympathies of those who suffer, the 
compassion of those who are blinded, and the cor- 
dial dislike of those who are guilty. Nor are the 
times or opinions so corrupt, but that these should 



216 THE LORGNETTE. 

prove very clever supports to any man who earnest- 
ly seeks them. I know that I could sleep very 
quietly upon them, and with a conscience l void 
of offence.' 

But have I a right, in remarking upon the un- 
truth, and frivolities of the social life in the city, 
to bear so hardly, and so pertinently upon the la- 
dies of the town ? 

Most unquestionably : and in saying this, I do 
them honor ; — at least, such small honor as can be 
reaped from the admission, that in energy, influence, 
and activity, they are vastly before any of those 
milliner gentry, calling themselves men, who affect 
to set the rules, or to sway the fashions for our so- 
cial guidance. Who, pray, transfers the spectacle 
from the stage, to the boxes of our Opera ; who 
sustains the drunken etiquette of the ball-room ; 
who favors, by toleration, study, and practice, the 
most questionable of the foreign polkas ; who 
smiles upon the most needless of display, and 
makes a parquette of pews ; who gives a boy-tone 
to the salon-talk ; who fulminates the scandal, and 
befriends the laced lacqueys ? "Who has translated 
Mr. Browne — the new Enoch (not Una) — from the 
funereal escutcheon of his undertaker's employ, to 
the ' heaven of invention ' — invention of ball- 
room tickets, and ball supplies; who has trans- 



RULE OF THE WOMEN. 217 

murted thriving school-boys into rapt polkists ; who 
is arranging our marriages for convenience, and our 
houses for mere display ? Are not our town ladies 
ordering these things to their own taste ; who else 
is competent ? Will they not agree with me in 
saying, that sensible men are not weak enough, 
and that men without sense are not strong enough ? 

We, in our country, Fritz, have long given a su- 
premacy to the Eve section of the human family, 
which has grown into a national characteristic. 
We have become the troubadours, and knights 
errant of the nineteenth century chivalry. It is an 
American distinction. The rush and fever of business 
which ' steeps to the ears ' nine out of ten of our 
men, has indeed made the obeisance (the gallantry 
if you please) a necessity ; nevertheless, it exists, 
and is insisted on. Grynocracy, to use the nomen- 
clature of a literary man, is the disorder of the 
town; and the old anthropocracy (to humor the 
critic's classical conceit) is known only to the 
business alleys of the city. 

Women are clearly responsible, then, for what- 
ever abuses obtain in our social life. They fix 
our hours of sleep, of eating, dancing, and wor- 
ship. They make the rules of our receptions ; 
they give the formulas for the interchange of hos- 
pitalities ; they establish the ages of beaux and 
22* 



218 THE LORGNETTE. 

belles, upon a basis somewhat similar to Sir Robert 
Peel's ' Sliding scale ;' they give a character to 
our music and our polkas ; they rectify and sub- 
limate our devotions. They give the cue, even, to 
education, and point out the limits of mental at- 
tainment. In most of these, and specially the 
last, they are easy masters, not pushing us into 
much erudition, nor wearying us with the imposi- 
tion of much reading ; nevertheless, they are in all 
that relates to the social intercourse of life, our 
lawgivers and taskmasters. The old Italian prov- 
erb, i Vuomini sono azioni ; le donne sono voci^ is 
now reversed : women are deeds, and men, words. 

If, then, we, their subordinates in these matters, 
do sometimes suggest inquiry, or question action, 
let them not take advantage of their superior posi- 
tion to bear us down ignominiously, and silence us 
by their frowns. Let them be generous as they 
are strong ; and suffer a quiet gentleman to throw 
out such observations as his enfeebled sense may 
suggest, without condemning him altogether, and 
putting him to the pillory of their critiques. 

I do not at all mean to imply the necessary ill- 
effects, or the unnaturalness of any such state of 
lady-government. Social life, next to domestic 
(about which it is unfashionable to talk in the 
city), is the woman's proper province. The affec- 



LADY DESPOTISM. 219 

tions and passions which belong to her, are its 
arbiters. Without her ballot, the most refined are 
outcasts, and with it, the most slavish are admis- 
sible. Even our respected friend Mr. Browne owes 
his adroitness only to a right judgment of her 
whimseys, and by really humoring, while he seems 
to advise. The gracious sexton is not unworthy 
the title of his old namesake, Tom. Browne. 

The ladies rate the standing of every in-coming 
family, and discuss and arrange the chances of its 
position. Mercantile connections, and all the club 
favors of gentlemen, are nothing to the familiar 
reception of an accredited lady. It is only neces- 
sary for an aspirant after social distinction, to be 
taken ' by the hand 5 of some notoriously well- 
known lady, and presto, he finds himself transform- 
ed, as quickly as the balls under a conjuror's cup, 
from red to white, or from white to red. He may 
woo, sigh, and grow faint of heart at the first, 
without so much as the nod of a dowager's plume to 
his earnest salutations ; but let him once have the 
public recognition of an umpire of the taste, and his 
rusticity will grow into an eccentric refinement, 
and he will be the mark for a multidude of favors 
from the ' middlings,' and of smiles from the well- 
taught. 

Even John Timon has to avow his gratitude 



220 THE LORGNETTE. 

to those who have extended to him the helping 
hand, and who, notwithstanding the sneers of the 
Journals, have introduced his paper to the favor of 
elegant society ; (and this, surely, not because I 
have tickled their vanity !) It takes off certainly, 
not a little from the face of the compliment, to 
know that the most gauche, and splay-footed of 
cockneys have been set up in the same way, and 
that the character of those who get the accolade of 
fellowship is not of so much importance, as their 
bearing upon the boudoir tattle. What is talked 
of, must be known. 

And this brings me, Fritz, to a most ungracious 
branch of my subject ; not only are our town 
ladies the arbiters of all social form, (as indeed they 
properly should be,) but they are also gifted by 
nature with a certain happy love of display ; nor 
has nature in this regard been improvidently left 
to neglect, but has shot up, under judicious cul- 
ture, into a yearning after distinctions, and a ripe- 
ness of vanity, as much superior to that of men, as 
to that of beasts. In this, too, they maintain their 
established eminence ; with the worse sort, it 
breeds the mercenary loves, the winks at vulgarity 
and ignorance ; and with the better, it creates 
tolerance for manifest extravagances, and an easy 
conscience under the coming reign of surplice, and 



LADY DEMOCRACY. 221 

confessional, and the prettiest ceremonials of im- 
ported Romanism. This has set the heraldic 
panels to our carriages ; this has tricked our coach- 
men in liveries; and this is making our children 
reverent of courtly display. 

Town ladies make very poor democrats. They 
are not tending toward any Greeley philosophy of 
equality, but are cutting us up into sets, which, if 
their theories mature, will ripen into aristocratic 
castes. I do not mean to hint, Fritz, that I am a 
believer in any Proudhonic system of social democ- 
racy, or that superior refinement will not always 
make itself distinct by elevation, as surely and as 
unconsciously as Saturn burns brighter than the 
smallest of the asteroids. But this token of superi- 
ority is not reckoned in the schedule of our modes ; 
we fetch over instead such poor pickings from the 
wardrobe of foreign rank, as will serve the vanities 
of wealth, and not offend too openly the hurly- 
burly vanity of the street. Exclusion is a far better 
security for eminence than cultivation. Let me 
throw it out, then, to the ladies, who have the power 
in their hands (though it may seem like a bit of 
stolidity, and mock seriousness,) — if it is not better 
after all, to cultivate the dignity of the Roman 
matron, or the fidelity of the Spartan mother, 
though they were not crowned with jewels, than to 



222 THE LORGNETTE. 

study, and ape those brilliancies, which made the 
honor of a Maintenon, and the virtue of a De 
l'Enclos? 

The Journalists may vapor as they will, and the 
clergy talk milk-and-water regrets, spreading their 
sanctimonious admonitions softly on the heads of 
respectable churches ; yet if the women, in whoso 
hands the matter lies, do not waken their action, 
while they gild their creeds, admonitions and 
vapors will prove but waste wind. If the ladies of 
ton will doat on boobies in their teens, they may 
rest assured that the town will continue to furnish 
an unfailing supply ; if they will glory in gorgeous- 
ness of equipage, the saddle men will thrive ; if 
their conversation lowers itself to the capacity of 
school-boys, they will always be sure of devout 
listeners ; if belleship is measured by polking ; and 
refinement by opera-going, and blarney about Be- 
nedetti, there will never be lack of belles, and never 
a short cross of refinement. Honors are easily 
worn which cost nothing in the getting ; and that 
cultivation will be easily sustained, whose only proof 
and issue is a noisy claim of possession. Ridiculous 
assumptions, and foolish foppery will never expire, 
while they have the tender fondling of lady- 
mothers. 

The merchant might be content with his prince- 



THE CITY HOME. 223 

ly mansion, comfortably garnished with all the ap- 
pliances for bed, books, and board ; but the lady 
must astonish her opposite neighbors, by the mag- 
nificence of her curtains, and must ransack Marley's 
or Baudouine, for some bit of furniture more outre 
than any in the possession of her very dear friend 
Madame Somebody else. The husband might pos- 
sibly be contented with moderate festivity among his 
friends ; but our Juno of the salon snubs her much 
attached Jove, and distresses him with a houseful 
of curiously-gathered lions. The father might be 
satisfied with a wholesome education for his daugh- 
ter, throwing out the newest of the polkas, and the 
making of sonnets ; but the Mamma overrules, 
and encourages cultivation by the most modern of 
the dances, perseverance by the latest of the hours, 
and humility by the lowest of the low-necked 
dresses. The ' old gentleman' might keep his son 
at study until he is firm upon his legs, and show 
some signs of beard ; but our elegant lady must 
push him early at Saracco's, and gratify her mother- 
ly ambition with his proficiency in the ball-room, 
and by the professional praises of Mr. Browne. 

The husband, poor fellow, might have some taste 
for what used to be called domestication, with his 
hopeful son, and his polking daughter, at his side ; 
but the concepts, operas, balls, and Broadway 



21\ THE LORGNETTE. 

promenades have arranged it for him otherwise ; if 
he admires, he must admire where they most study- 
to be admired ; and if he rebels, lie will very likely 
be compelled to bury his rebellion at the club, and 
cheer himself with a cigar, and the yesterday's 
papers. He will have no more hand in forming the 
tastes or character of his daughter, than our hero 
Martel, or the most assiduous of the polka 
dancers. 

And here, Fritz, I come upon another topic, 
which it will be ungrateful to handle. Womanly 
eminence in our day and town is turned away 
from the hearth, and runs riot in the streets. 
What lady can be found so silly as to aspire to the 
distinction of being a good housekeeper, affectionate 
mother, or tender wife ? What one, so short- 
sighted as not to sigh for the reputation of showing 
the latest modes, of appreciating the most worth- 
less opera, or of driving the most stylish equi- 
page ? 

Praise is no longer looked for at home, but in the 
world. Merit is reckoned by the club-room babble 
and the newspaper ' item.' Contempt of less things 
grows naturally upon the love of the greater and 
noisier. Dash is worth more than virtue ; town- 
talk is better than the commendation of a friend. 
To achieve position in a set, where the position 



THE LEADERS OF TON. 225 

shall have public recognition , is an aim dearer to 
hundreds of our hopeful ladies, than any domestic 
and worthy nobility. The old-fashioned notion 
that a woman's throne might be built up highest 
at home is exploded ; publicity is the testimony to 
her honcr, and the end of her ambition. The 
Lucretias are growing rare, while the Tarquins are 
thickening. The Lares are transplanted from the 
fireside, and are set up, like the painted images in 
Papal Switzerland, at the shop windows, and 
street corners. The only vestal fire to be heard of, 
is in the blaze of the opera chandelier. 

Our ' leaders of ton' do not care so much to please, 
as to astonish, and had rather bewilder by the mul- 
tiplication of etiquette, than attract by its sim- 
plicity. John Timon takes the liberty of telling 
them, that in this they steer as wide of good 
breeding as of kind intent. Mackenzie says, some- 
where — ' A great man may perhaps be well-bred 
in a manner which little people do not understand ; 
but trust me, he is a greater man who is well-bred 
in a manner that everybody understands.' 

What do we derive from all this, Fritz ? First, 

that the ladies of our town have the control of our 

social life ; second, that their native vanity is not 

shocked at the consciousness of the power ; and 

third, that that vanity is unfortunately wedded to a 
23 



226 THE LORGNETTE. 

publicity that braves modesty, begets scandal, and 
beggars morals. 

Nor shall I allow myself to be condemned for 
this judgment, without bringing testimony for its 
support ; and such testimony can surely be found 
in this letter which has come to hand within the 
week past, and in which I waive the equivocal 
compliment its author has paid me, for the truth 
and sincerity of the subject matter. 

Mr. Timon : 

Dear Sir, — I do not know but a serious letter 
will be out of place amid the ironical talk, and 
only half-earnest tone of your paper ; at any rate, 
I have determined to tell you what I think and 
feel — a thing I scarce ever do even to my husband. 
For I have been married, you must know, nearly 
three years ; and for the last seven years we have 
been trying (my Mamma and I) to c get up' in 
New York society. And now (Papa got rich four 
years ago last May) we have done it. 

At first we had a small house in Thompson street, 
and I took lessons from Signor Piccolino twice a 
week on the guitar : I learned French at school. 
Mamma was very kind to the girls of ' good fami- 
lies ' who went to our school, and used to ask them 
to come and take tea with me. Mamma always 



A LADY'S LETTER. 227 

hired a new carriage at the stable near us, and 
told me not to take one with a number on it. 

As Papa got richer we moved into Bleecker 

street, only two doors from Mrs. , who was of 

the ' first set.' We patronized her butcher, and 
used to ask the baker's boy what cakes and bread 
she took in. We studied her style of dress, and 
commenced walking Broadway. Papa changed 
my teacher, and got one for a higher price, though 
he was not so good as the other. We got a hand- 
some Grerman to teach me music, and I used to 
read Willis' poems, and Tupper's Philosophy : I 
got some of Willis' poems by heart, and they are 
sweet; so is Tupper. 

We had little soirees now and then : at first there 
were hardly any gentlemen but papa's clerks, and 
cousin Dick, whom he would invite, though mam- 
ma didn't wish to. I took private lessons in polk- 
ing, and used to get cousin Dick to come in morn- 
ings and practice with me. Papa got occasionally 
upon the committee for some public dinner, and 
mamma kept the paper that contained the account 
lying about handy. 

We commenced soon making calls, and got on 
very well, though some of them were never return- 
ed ; of course we cut them afterward. I liked read- 
ing pretty well, but couldn't get any time. Mam- 



228 THE LORGNETTE. 

ma told me not to waste my study on what was 
never talked of, and now since we take the Home 
Journal she says there's no excuse for not knowing 
just what to read. 

We got some nice gentlemen to call on us after 
we had been in Bleecker street awhile : mamma 
flattered them, and papa gave them cigars when 
they went away. They didn't do much as I could 
learn, but were members of the club, and used to 
dance — oh — exquisitely. We dressed finely, and 
got to be friends with Miss Lawson : mamma talked 
about a carriage, but papa thought it would be 
better to get on 'by degrees.' 

Pretty soon we moved up town and set up a 
carriage in earnest. I got new teachers, and paid 
them more than ever. We went to Saratoga, and 
my dress at the fancy ball was praised in all the 
papers. I couldn't walk down Broadway between 
three and four without getting twenty bows. Papa 
was very rich, and mamma began to be invited all 
about. We kept a man-servant, and had him 
wear white gloves at dinner parties, and on recep- 
tion days. I purchased of Mr. Crowen some beau- 
tiful books for the centre-table, and everybody said 
we were getting to be fashionable. Mamma would 
smile and say ; oh no,' and, perhaps, say some hard 
things about fashionable people, as if they were 



THE LADY'S TRAVEL. 229 

not worth knowing, but she never meant them; 
and I, for my part, never said them. I forgot to 
tell you that we took a box at the Opera, and 
bought a half dozen lorgnettes. Our carriage was 
a pretty one, and our coachman wore — oh — ever so 
many capes. 

I could get on very well in French, and had be- 
gun to get a little Italian, so that I could read with 
a dictionary a little of the Promessi Sposi. Still 
there were some sets we couldn't get into. Mam- 
ma thought it would be best to go to Europe ; so 
we went. We traveled post all over the Continent. 
We made up a party at Rome with some titled 
people to go and see the Vatican statuary at night ; 
and papa paid for all the torches. Little Clark 
got us into Torlonia's great ball; and at Naples 
we had splendid rooms at the Victoria, looking 
out on the Villa Reale. 

I learned Italian as fast as I could, and bought 
lots of tortoise-shell, and lava ornaments, to give 
away when I came back. 

Well, we spent two years so, and then came 
home. Papa gave grand dinner parties, and I be- 
lieve our return was mentioned in the Express, 
and papa subscribed for the paper. We went to all 
the balls, and looked so ' knowing' at the Opera. 

The gentlemen came to see me, and I had ever 
23* 



230 THE LORGNETTE 

so many flirtations : until one day mamma said 
I had better get married. You must not expect 
me to tell you if any of those we chose, ' played 
off:' it is enough to say that at length one, a pretty 
man, of good family, but without much money, 
was married to me. 

It was very gay at the first ; and ' the family ' 
were very kind ; and mamma said I might consider 
myself among the l ton. 5 I dare say I am, but it 
don't seem such a great thing, after all. 

And what is worse, everybody knows me, and all 
about our history. Husband says he don't like 
Tupper's Philosophy, so that I can't entertain him 
with books. And he don't speak French very 
easily, so we can't practice together ; and when I 
ask him to dance, he says ' Pshaw ! you are a sim- 
pleton!' yet he always dances with the married 
ladies at the balls. Mamma visits us occasionally 
to look over the card-basket, and tell me what a 
fine establishment I have got ; and the clergyman 
comes, and says I ought to be very happy ; and I 
suppose I ought ; though somehow I am not. 

It does seem to me that this sort of life is not, 
after all, very satisfying. To be sure it's very silly, 
but I cry sometimes. In Lent especially it was 
very dull ; husband at the club, and no parties. 

Can't you tell me, Mr. Timon, now that I have 



THE B0ST0N1AX. 231 

been so honest with you, how I can amuse myself? 
Pray do, and if you choose you may print my let- 
ter, but don't let any one see the hand-writing. 
Truly yours, Amanda Miggs nee Diggs. 

P.S. — My papa is getting up in the world : he is 
just building a long block, which he means to call 
Fitz-Diggs Block. Sweet name, isn't it ? 



I know not how to give advice on so serious a 
matter as my correspondent has here broached, 
without a more attentive consideration than I am 
now able to bestow. She may rest assured, how- 
ever, that the subject shall not pass from my mind 
without mature reflection, and such attention from 
the Lorgnette as its importance demands. 



THE BOSTONIAN. 

" Cogitations hominum sequntur plerunque inclinations suas ; ser* 
mones autem, doctrinas et opiniovs, quas imbiberunt ; At Facta eorum 
ferme antiquum obtinent. " — Lord Bacon. 

It takes a vast deal to drive a man's habit or his 
nature out of him ; the English philosopher says 
as much in his quaint Latinity. From this it fol- 
lows, my dear Fritz, that all you see in New York 
are not New Yorkers. Neither tailors, nor hair- 



232 THE LORGNETTE. 

dressers, nor the club-talk, can so transform a man 
but that you shall see in him the lees of the ancient. 
Indeed, between the Hotels, the Opera-house, and 
the street, our town is not a bad point from which 
to study the characteristics of the nation. 

The people of the Town are not destitute of a 
modicum of charity, and look with feelings of 
proper Christian benevolence upon all strangers, of 
whatever cut ; while at the same time they wear 
an air of what seems most natural and unconscious 
superiority. But I observe that this is so carefully 
concealed, that the greater part of strangers, espe- 
cially those from the neighbor cities, do not see it 
at all ; and are apt to flatter themselves into the 
belief that they are passing current in the street 
throng, as indigenous and unadulterated specimens 
Indeed, none but a Bostonian would ever resent 
being taken for a New Yorker ; and so carefully do 
they of the sister city guard their identity by dress, 
action, and speech, that none but the most careless 
observer would ever affront them with the charge. 

The Bostonian is strongly impressed with the 
idea that his city is the particular nucleus of all 
that there is great on this side of the Atlantic. He 
looks upon other American towns as small planet- 
ary bodies revolving about the centre of Boston 
Common, and deriving most of their light, heat, 




. sy?^ 



THE BOSTONIAN 



THE BOSTONIAN. 233 

and strength from Cambridge University, Faneuil 
Hall, and Boston Harbor. He affects a wonderful 
degree of kinship with the English ; and keeps 
up the connection by sharp shirt collars, short- 
waisted coats, and yellow gaiters. He is apt to 
put himself upon English stilts to look down upon 
the rest of the American world, which he regards 
complacently through an English eye-glass. He 
does not so much pity the rest of the American 
world, as he patronizes and encourages. His liter- 
ary tastes being formed in the focus of western 
learning, are naturally correct and profound. He 
squats himself upon the Boston formulas of judg- 
ment, from which nothing can shake him, and puts 
out his feelers of opinion, as you may have seen a 
lazy, bottle-tailed bug try his whereabouts, without 
once stirring, by means of his glutinous and many- 
jointed antennae. 

He likes to try you in discussion, in the course 
of which it will be next to impossible to tell him 
anything that he did not previously know ; and you 
will prove a rare exception, if he does not 
tell you many things that you never knew be- 
fore — unless, indeed, you have been in Boston. 
His stock of praises is uncommonly small, and 
principally reserved for home consumption ; things 
are done welly only in Boston ; though they are 



234 THE LORGNETTE 

sometimes creditably done in other parts of the 
world. 

His superiority in arts, letters, science, and re- 
ligion, of which he will endeavor strenuously to 
convince one, is attributable partially to education, 
but mainly to his being a Bostonian. Whatever 
idea, or system of ideas, whether in politics, arts, 
or literature, which had not its beginning, or has 
not had its naturalization in Boston, is a fungous 
growth upon the great body of American opinion, 
which must of necessity wither and perish. 

The Bostonian entertains the somewhat singular 
notion that whatever he has never observed, is not 
worth observing ; and that the very few matters 
of fact and fancy scattered about the country, 
which are unbeknown to Bostonians, are not worth 
their knowing. This gives him under all ordinary 
circumstances a self-possession, and dignity of ad- 
dress which is quite remarkable. He does not 
conceive it possible that classical scholarship should 
thrive at all, out of sight of the belfry of the old 
South Church ; and such chance citations from 
classic authors, as may appear on pages printed in 
other parts of the country, he considers filched in 
some way out of Boston books. He regards all 
those making any profession of learning, out of his 
own limits, very much as an under pedagogue will 



THE BOSTONIAN. 235 

eye a promising boy of the ' first form ' who occa- 
sionally hears recitations. 

He plumes himself specially on his precision and 
exactness ; you will never see a Bostonian with the 
lower button of his waistcoat uncaught, and he is 
uniformly punctual to his dinner hour. Vivacity 
he condemns from principle — and the best of all 
principle, which is — Boston principle. Even in 
religion, he does not recognize the hot zeal of earn- 
est intention, nor does he run toward the lusts of 
ceremonial. He is coy to acknowledge even the 
personnel of a Divine Mediation ; his dignity does 
not like to admit a superior between himself and 
the Highest. The comparative chilliness of the 
Unitarian faith suits the evenness of his temper ; 
and when he casts loose from this unique doctrine, 
which is to many a pure and holy faith, he runs 
inevitably into the iciness of Pantheism. 

In politics he is Bostonian. He speaks lightly of 
the French, and of French Republicanism, and 
indeed of most sorts of Republicanism which are 
not reducible immediately or remotely to Boston 
Republicanism. He has a very tender charity, too, 
for the gross legal tyranny of his ancestral Eng- 
lish ; and such of his sympathies as ramify be- 
yond his Pontine marshes, or the Roxbury plains, 



2SG THE LORGNETTE. 

clasp stoutly round the mosses and blotches of 
the royal oak of Britain. 

In manners he is true to his faith ; he walks 
stiffly, dances stiffly, and bows stiffly. Like the 
Englishman, he assimilates little with those among 
whom he may chance to fall : he guards his in- 
tegrity by exception. His idea of elegance centres 
in precision ; and the ease that he possesses is 
never more than familiarity. He is, like the Vir- 
ginian, usually of an 'old family;' whoever heard 
of any other sort of families in the Old Dominion, 
or the ' Cradle of Liberty' ? 

The Bostonian sneers at the riff-raff of New York 
society, and will sometimes put a clever edge upon 
his sneers. He is the favorite of such ladies as 
love bookish talk, and who will not worry at an 
awkward polka. He is quicker at a bargain than 
a waltz, and he counts his town-talent a fair offset 
to the money and the graces of our belles. A lui 
le talent, — anos femmes la fortune ; tout cela peut 
se marier. He reads the Boston Atlas, and Boston 
books ; he sighs for Boston Common ; and lunches 
on Boston crackers. 

All this, it must be understood, my dear Fritz, is 
predicated upon such stray specimens as may be 
seen here and there wandering down our streets, 
or adorning the corners, at our balls. That there 



THE BOSTONIAN 2J? 

is very much worthiness, that is here unnoted, about 
the race which belongs to Boston, the world knows. 
And if I were to make a particularity that should 
have its point, I would say that the admirable 
police, and municipal regulations of the sister city, 
its well-ordered pavements and well-swept streets, 
are worthy of all commendation, and much copy. 
And the Bostonian may well boast, that while our 
City Fathers are lazily drinking their tea in sight 
of our city desolation, that snug Eastern Seaport is 
gaining upon us by forced marches in all the com- 
moner and most comfortable types of an advanced 
civilization. 

As for the vagrant Bostonian, with whom I began, 
and who brings his doctrinas, and his antiquum 
with him, it is sincerely to be hoped that he will 
in time fall away from the greatness of his unbelief; 
and be willing to credit that eyes, heart, tongue, 
and brain have been mercifully vouchsafed to 
people in various parts of the world, by the same 
kind Providence which has so overstocked Boston 
Town. 

Timon. 



24 




APRIL 11. 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 11. 



" Dans le siecle ou nous soinmes 
On ne donne rien pour rien." — Moliere. 

Gtil Blas, before he was more than a day's jour- 
ney away from Oviedo, fell in with a very com- 
mon sort of personage, who wore a long rapier and 
a ready tongue ; and who was so lavish of his 
praises as to win the best half of the traveler's 
omelette and a capital trout to his supper. I am 
inclined to think our town public not very unlike 
the thriving hero of Le Sage ; and that a stranger 
cannot ordinarily hit upon a better method of win- 
ning his suppers, or an omelette, than by rankly 
dubbing our city an c Eighth wonder of the world.' 
But the truth is, that between sarsaparillas, pills, 
25 



240 THE LORGNETTE. 

lectures, and new books, the town is so cram full of 
puffery and praises, that I have not thought it 
worth my while to follow in the same track of 
senseless encomium. It has become even more 
vulgar than it was on the lips of the toady of Pcna- 
flor : and from having been a tribute paid by the 
world on days of dividend, it has become a part of 
the small coin of social interchange : as Swift says, 
' the trouble of collecting it from the world was 
too great, and the moderns have, therefore, bought 
out the fee-simple, ' 

Thus, though I may have lost my suppers of 
trout, and present favor, I trust that I may come 
in by-and-by for a little moderate good-will, and 
like Burchell, in the Vicar of Wakefield, who said 
i fudge ' at all the talk in the Primrose family, I 
shall hope at the end to be credited a disinterested 
purpose, and win a more thorough regard than any 
of the young Squire Thornhills, who are so lavish 
of their compliments, but who use them only to 
seduce innocence, or to feed an overweening vanity. 
The reader will remember, too, that the enthusiasm 
of the old visitor at the Vicar's frequently led him 
into harshness of expression, of which the sting was 
only removed when it was found, on longer ac- 
quaintance, that his love of honesty, and detesta- 
tion of all manner of chicane, was but the prompter 



THE TOWN CHARITIES. 241 

to his severity. May I not hope likewise, notwith- 
standing my neglect of praise, a little of that return 
which in the end made glad the philanthropic 
Burchell? 

It is by no means from lack of subject that I 
have foresworn praises ; indeed, they abound. 
Leaving private life, and the gayety of our salons, 
where enough of modesty, of womanly refinement, 
and delicacy are still exhibited, to counterbalance 
the persiflage of ignorant intruders, and the bold- 
ness of such as make unmaidenly display their ob- 
ject, — I might turn to the chapter of the public 
charities, and show you a whole town earnest to 
assist, in their distresses, those poor families who 
but a little while ago were so cruelly shattered by 
the wreck in Hague street. I might point to a 
score of monuments of both public and private 
munificence ; I might note the open cordiality with 
which the stranger is received and welcomed : and 
the statesman, or benefactor, feted and applauded. 
But of this there is no need : and even were it 
needful, I am utterly supplanted : the monopoly of 
such work has been long ago assigned over by com- 
mon consent to occasional orators, speakers at pub- 
lic dinners, town journals, lady dancers, and Opera 
managers. 

It is, indeed, not a little odious, and sometimes 



242 THE LORGNETTE. 

painful, to find myself almost alone, if not worse 
than alone, among those who represent the harsher 
aspects of the town-life, its unmeaning parade, and 
its senseless, social habitudes : but I console myself 
with the reflection that not a few, and those worthy 
of most devoted regard, will see underlying all 
the irony and animadversion, enough of an honest 
purpose and a true humanity, to redeem my char- 
acter. Were it not so, Fritz, I would long ago 
have thrown down my pen in despair, and looked 
as idly as the idlest upon the shifting currents of 
our town-life. 

COUNTRY STRANGERS 

" Nor would I, you should melt away yourself 
In flashing bravery, lest while you affect 
To make a blaze of gentry to the world, 
A little puff of scorn extinguish it. 
I'd ha you sober, and contain yourself, 
Not that the sail be bigger than the boat." 

Every Man in his Humor. Act 1, Sc. 1. 

I have already given you a glimpse of the Bos- 
tonian, but he is not the only one among the 
strangers in our town who is deserving of particu- 
lar mention. The Philadelphian is apt to fancy 
himself every whit as good as the Bostonian, and 
much better than the New Yorker. He prides 
himself overmuch upon the cut of his clothes, and 
until within a few years it was currently under- 



THE COUNTRY STRANGERS. 243 

stood that the tailor craft in the Quaker city, was 
vastly superior to anything this side of the French 
capital ; but I very much fear that they are losing 
ground in this particular, and can now no more 
compare their heroes of the needle with our Piercie 
Shaftons, than their Fairmount with the Croton, or 
Laurel Hill with Greenwood. Still, the Philadel- 
phian has his claims to superiority ; and though he 
does not boast now of a United States Bank, or 
Nicholas Biddle, he makes up by talk about the 
Grirard College and Liberty Hall : he is eminently 
fond of the fancied European aspect of his streets : 
and whoever has talked with a stray Philadelphian 
without hearing somewhat of the charms of Chest- 
nut street, must needs have been ' hard of hearing.' 
At dinner he is not a little disposed to speak mod- 
estly of the treasures of his market— its poultry, 
fruit, and eggs ; nor does the Philadelphia lady 
once admit that our haberdashers display anything 
like so tasty a stock, as may be found at Levy's. 

The Philadelphian enjoys, moreover, the con- 
sideration — -though he forbears to urge it, and though 
he lives in the city of brotherly love — of belonging to 
a population capable of more mob enthusiasm, than 
any out of sight of the hills which overtop Lyons 
upon the Rhone. Following upon this quality, 

though how intimately associated with it I do not 

25* 



5s M THE LORGNETTE. 

know, is his boast of the superior culture in Phila- 
delphia society : and one might safely imagine from 
his conversation — using it in way of testimony, 
and not as sample — that the erudition and polish 
of a Philadelphia salon was something very hard 
to be found, beyond the sound of the trickle of 
Fair mount. 

He would make it appear that money has little 
chance in his city, against the predominating influ- 
ence of refinement and breeding; and he will point 
out to you our grocer's daughter swimming through 
the mazes of the waltz in the top circles of the town, 
as an impropriety that would quite shock the sensi- 
bilities of the tonnish ladies upon the Schuylkill. 
I find, however, that like the phlegmatic Bostonian, 
he is not insensible to the graces of such parvenus ; 
and that, whether amorous of the money, or the 
figure, he is quite content to carry her off to his 
city, hush up her origin, and engraft upon her 
humble stock the elegancies of his elevated life. 
Of course, she thus loses every vulgar taint, and 
like the knotted dwarf stocks, on which the Bur- 
lington gardeners set their Flemish scions, is 
quite lost under the luxuriant foliage of the new 
growth. 

The Philadelphians are adepts in whatever re- 
lates to hair-dye, gloves, or perfumery ; and you 



THE PHILADELPHIAN. 245 

will be able in four instances out of five to detect 
the visitor from that city, either by the dressing of 
his hair, the color of his gloves, or the scent of his 
trail. You will find his locks most skillfully laid 
apart, and rounded up over his ears as daintily as 
on the wig-blocks in Chestnut street ; while one 
of our New York clubmen shall show in his back- 
hair, such a bristly and agonized parting, as 
would shock the worst bred North country buck, in 
the Assize-room of York. 

The Philadelphian, too, cultivates a gentleness 
and softness of manner, which proves quite taking 
with our romantic school-girls ; and singular as it 
may seem, he will preserve this softness and deli- 
cacy up to an advanced age : even the lawyers 
are fond of genteel pleas, and the doctors, though 
given marvelously to blood-letting, practice with 
the softest handling, on the softest pulses in the 
world. 

The Washington ian sometimes wanders to our 
city, though never unmindful of his majestic 
Potomac, and magnificent Capitol. He contrasts, 
much to our loss, the unpretending Broadway with 
the siveep* of his Pennsylvania Avenue. There is 



* Those who have seen Washington under a high wind in dry weather 
will see a reason in the italics ; those who have not, will please restore 
the Roman character, and pass on. 



246 THE LORGNETTE. 

no great peculiarity to distinguish him, unless it 
be a certain careless independence, as if he were, 
by virtue of his position, a supervisor of the nation. 
His dress and manner are of a mixed sort, being 
picked up from such vagabond tailors and hair- 
dressers as have taken refuge in the District — set 
off with careless imitation of Sir Henry Bulwer's 
hat or whiskers, and an assumption of the pretty 
off-hand airs of an Ambassador's Clerk. 

The ladies would be even less distinguishable, 
were it not for an extraordinary air of boldness, 
which thrives excellently well in our Metropolis. 
For dress, they adopt with no little tact, such fash- 
ions of the New York or Philadelphia beauties as 
suit their style ; and for self-possession, and readi- 
ness of speech, I think they may be safely matched 
against any lady that smiles. Indeed, I do not know 
a better cure for maidenly diffidence — not that it 
is a common failing in our town — than a two 
months' residence at Washington. 

From time to time, a Member who has decamp- 
ed, may be seen in our streets, wearing in an impor- 
tant way the honors of his position ; and looking 
out upon our city as only one among his numerous 
constituencies. He is, perhaps, a little surprised 
that his appearance does not create a stir ; more 
especially as his arrival has been announced in 



THE WASHINGTONIAN. 247 

the Express, and if a slave-holder — possibly in the 
Herald. It is matter very likely of some astonish- 
ment that the dinner invitations do not flow in 
upon him by dozens ; and that the street-passers 
are so very ignorant as they appear to be, of 
what manner of man is among them. Nor will 
the Member cut a much more important figure in 
the ball-room, than in the street. In the dance, 
which he cannot in New York as in Washington 
avoid, he will find his stiff ungainliness no match 
for the little pliant fellows who are fresh from their 
Saracco lessons ; and his political talk and careless 
toilette will be speedily thrust in a corner, or si- 
lenced with the sop of ecarte. Let him win fame, or 
fight a duel, and he shall dance ' fit for a Duke ;' 
and he shall kiss in public or private, by proxy or 
otherwise, half the ladies of the town. 

Some limbs of the army or navy, will from time 
to time excite quite a furor among our street- 
walkers, and will carry a flippant, assured manner 
that puts them entirely out of the reach of ordinary 
civilians. They are said, however, to be respect- 
able, harmless fellows in their way, and quite 
comfortable companions at a supper, or a quiet 
rubber of whist. 

Here and there about the hotels, you will see 
gentlemen of very important aspect, who cannot 



243 THE LORGNETTE. 

conceal their surprise, that everybody is not taking 
note of their bigness ; whereas very few, not even 
the head porter or newspaper boys, are aware of 
their importance. They are the judges, or great 
men of country towns, excessively admired and 
honored in their own parish, renting the most con- 
spicuous pew in their country church, and possibly 
keeping the best gig and brown mare in the whole 
township. Probably they have little properties, 
which pass with their humble neighbors as ' estates ;' 
but they do not figure largely in our town. It does 
not occur to their embarrassed perceptions, that 
amid a population of half a million, all bent on 
their own affairs, the chances of the great man of a 
small town, for making a stir by his entree, are, to 
say the least, very problematical. He should not 
take it too much to heart, if the passers-by do not 
dock their hats to him, or if his name is omitted 
from the personal movements of the Express. 

I really entertain serious pity for such mis- 
guided gentlemen ; — most of all at table, where 
their loud tones, dignified carriage, and patronizing 
looks thrown to their opposite neighbors, would 
seem to merit a larger share of consideration than 
they ever receive. Bat I am consoled with believing 
that, if not admired, their own sense of dignity 
does not at all flag ; and they are sustained by a 



THE WESTERNER, 249 

self-approval that is never at fault, and never weary 
of working, 

Stout youngsters, too, from western cities, per- 
haps making first purchases on their own account, 
are quite disposed to carry off a good many of the 
street honors of the town ; and have evidently pre- 
vailed on themselves to believe, that their appear- 
ance at the Opera may create quite a sensation : it 
will be perhaps true of their coat, or carriage, but 
for the rest they will be doomed in most instances 
to severe disappointment. Some individual of 
decided western habit and dress, who has imbibed 
to the full that pseudo American independence, 
which mocks at all forms, and even glories in pert- 
ness and singularity, will stare about him com- 
placently, as if he were as capable of the highest 
art, as of making a stump speech in central Ohio. 
And he smokes his cigar, and wears his hat with 
very much the air of that Scotch traveler in Switz- 
erland, of whom Goldsmith speaks : — he had wan- 
dered into a church where all the people were 
afflicted with goitres : they of course stared at his 
slim neck prodigiously : ' I perceive, 5 said he, rising 
to retire, ' that I am an odd fellow here, but I 
assure you that I am considered a good-looking man 
at home.' 

T must not forget, Fritz, to give you a portrait or 



250 THE LORGNETTE 

two of our stranger ladies. An American lady is 
not without pride : and if it would not be counted 
ungallant, I should say she had more of it, than 
any woman in the world beside. Not a few, whom 
we may call country fashionables, and who make 
semi-annual pilgrimages to the shrine of Mr. Stew- 
art, are exceedingly anxious to be mistaken for 
New Yorkers ; and are curiously apprehensive lest 
any action, or wry adjustment of dress should make 
their provincial character perceptible. They are 
mightily observant of dress and gait ; and if they 
find their country Pythoness has imposed upon 
them a mantilla, or hat, the like of which is not to 
be seen, they will be sure to carry back with them 
a little stock of upbraiding 

Such lady is apt to run to the very verge of fashion, 
in her anxiety to meet the demands of provincial 
taste, which is somewhat spasmodic in its mani- 
festations : and she must be well assured that the 
lawyer's, or apothecary's wife of her town, will not 
outshine her in finery. She is anxious to conceal 
any little innocent gaucherie that may pertain to 
her, even from the clerks of the trading establish- 
ments ; and will assume an easy familiarity with 
them, and counterfeit an acquaintance with goods, 
and store-keeping generally, that is quite refreshing 
to look upon. Nor is she ever ignorant of any- 



THE COUNTRY LADY. 251 

thing, which in her view a city lady ought to 
know : and she cultivates an abandon, of a caste 
rarely to be met with out of the public parlors of 
the hotels. 

Her conversation is not demure or quiet, but 
lively : and she not unfrequently hums (if she 
knows it) a snatch of a fashionable Opera. If a 
friend calls, to ask when she came up to town, and 
how all the ' folks ' are in Jersey, she blinks him 
with very few words ; she turns talk as speedily as 
possible upon the Opera, and the town topics, and 
chats in the glibest possible style of Mesdames 
So-and-so, of the spring modes, and fashionable 
books. She has no idea of being beaten off into 
provincial topics in public places. At the Opera, 
she wears the air of one who is not in the least taken 
aback by whatever she may see, and as if she under- 
stood the gist of the whole matter, as well as the 
keenest of the critics. 

Opposed to these in their action, are the timid, 
modest ladies from the country, who have not 
known enough of the city to be baited by its 
assumptions ; they dress innocently for breakfast, 
and you will meet them at nine in the morning in 
brilliant evening attire. Yet withal they are very 
fearful that people are looking at them, and very 
certain that their dress is a very pretty one. They 
26 



252 THE LORGNETTE. 

are sometimes betrayed in their naivete into looking 
through a shop- window, and blush to find themselves 
surrounded by such ungenteel people. 

They labor under almost constant alarm about 
their purses ; and from the stories they have heard, 
are disposed to reckon nearly every over-dressed 
man either a pickpocket or cut-throat. In this they 
are not far from right : still, in broad daylight, upon 
Broadway, they may consider themselves compara- 
tively safe. 

They are afraid of theatres ; and if from New 
England, the fear is accompanied with very zealous 
and decided condemnation. The Museum does not 
of course come under the same category, and may 
be ventured on in virtue of an old moral tradi- 
tion, by all those who are too good for the Opera or 
Niblo's. If the mother of a family, our good lady 
will be very fearful, on her first visits, of the con- 
tamination of her boys ; and will look suspiciously 
upon every sour, or moustached face, she sees 
upon the street. She will mistake even the most 
common acts of politeness, for the seductive arts 
of unprincipled and designing men. 

She is subject to unceasing, and most unneces- 
sary alarms at sight of any street-gathering, and is 
convinced there must be a pickpocket or murderer 
in the case ; she is afraid of the cabmen, lest she be 



THE COUNTRY MOTHERS. 253 

cheated or hurried off out of the reach of humanity, 
and be lost to herself, her family, and the world. 
Of the omnibus drivers, she has but little better 
opinion, and an absolute certainty that a pick- 
pocket is in every stage. She wears her vail down 
in passing the Hospital, that she may not become 
infected with any town cholera : and is in a dis- 
tressing panic at sight of an engine, or at the cry 
of fire. 

Yet withal, Fritz, these very good women of the 
country, who are the butts of city ridicule, will in 
nine cases out of ten, rear sons who will take the 
lead away, in business, in professional pursuits, or 
in the arts, from the most luxurious of the town- 
bred. They will prove the efficient and active 
movers of our vast body politic, while the sons of 
millionaires are contenting themselves with the 
empty town distinctions of a dashing coat, or a taw- 
dry epaulette. Town worthies, who with their bril- 
liant social strides, entered upon while yet only 
half through their grammars, are thinking to 
outstrip, and throw into ludicrous insignificance, 
the slowly accumulating manhood of provincial 
youths, will find realized, to their mortification, 
the old fable of the hare and the tortoise. Steady 
effort, persevering industry, and right moral teach- 
ing, is even now in obscure corners, laying the basis 



254 THE LORGNETTE. 

of characters, which twenty years hence, will con* 
trol the wealth, and the public interests of the 
town. 

Dress, equipages, perfumery, and the Opera will 
always have native, city teachers ; but the Pulpit, 
the Exchange, Journalism, and the Bar, are draw- 
ing in recruits from the rough sons of hard country 
study, and of old-fashioned, rigid, academical educa- 
tion, whose energy, spirit, and influence, will one 
day make the hot-house progeny of the town quiv- 
er in their shoes. 

Show me an influential journalist, a rising man 
at our bar, a preacher at once profound and prac- 
tical, a physician eminent in his profession, a mer- 
chant who is fertile in enterprise, and successful by 
honest industry, and I will show you one who 
knew little or nothing of the fashionable life of the 
town, until his mental and moral character was 
already formed. On the other hand, show me a 
lawyer rich in political intrigue, a doctor distin- 
guished by nostrums, a conversationalist fertile in 
equivoques, a poetaster fatiguing the language 
with his poverty, a merchant who is rich by suc- 
cessive bankruptcies, or defalcations, and twenty 
to one, he has been dandled in the endearing arms 
of Fashion, and while yet in his teens, has convert- 
ed his feeble art of the grammar, to the crowning 
arts of the boudoir. 



FAMILY AND ANCESTRY. 'loo 

FAMILY AND ANCESTORS 

" jamas te pongas a disputar de linages, a lo menos comparandolos 

entre si, pues por fuerza en los que se comparan, uno ha de ser el mejor, 
y del que abatieres seras aborrecido, j del que levantares en ninguna 
manera premiado." — Don Quixote, Part n. Cap. xliii. 

This is a tender subject, my dear Fritz ; and it is 
capital advice that the old Don gives his Squire : 
little may be gained in broaching it, and much may 
be lost. But my notices of the town-life would be 
sadly incomplete, if I were to omit the considera- 
tion of so important an element in the graduation 
of our social scale. 

The pride which induces a man to cherish the 
memory of an honored, and respected ancestor, is 
not an ignoble pride, — nor is it an unusual one ; 
and he must be a sot indeed who is insensible to 
the regard, which by common acclaim should at- 
tach to the name of his sire. But this ancestral 
pride needs some caution in the using ; it may 
serve as the groundwork of very dangerous boast- 
ings, and attract a degree of attention, or provoke 
a contrast, that the boaster can very poorly bear. 
A simpleton who should forever be declaiming upon 
the talent of an ancestor, would only make his 
weakness the more palpable, and draw down the 
reproach of having harmed a great name, by asso- 
ciation with a pitiful souL As he cannot be great 
26* 



256 THE LORGNETTE. 

himself, it were much better that he did not trace 
his descent from greatness. 

Yet strange as it may seem, Fritz, these are the 
very ones who are forever talking of their pedigree, 
and raking up from their family tombs, a distinc- 
tion which could never belong to their family char- 
acter. Nothing indeed is more natural than for 
the man, who has not within himself the means of 
challenging popular esteem, to take it boldly from 
the ashes of his fathers : necessity, in a measure, 
justifies the action, and the theft of the bread of 
ancestral distinction, is pardonable in those descend- 
ants, who are starving under the hunger of con- 
tempt. 

You may think, Fritz, that such observations 
have no aptness in my studies of this Republican 
town ; but if so, you would be strangely mistaken. 
Our Republicanism has not yet so far individual- 
ized the man or the family, as to make either re- 
liant solely on their own action, name, or charac- 
ter, for distinction. 

We have not only the old and meritorious pride 
in family names, honorably associated with our Co- 
lonial History, but the importation of other foreign 
luxuries has brought in its train, an immense 
amount of the worship of family splendor and imag- 
inary genealogies ; which as they make the basis 



THE TOWN ANCESTRY. 257 

of much of the feudal aristocracy, are serving as 
the apologies and adornments of our own. They 
are just the apologies indeed, which are needed to 
make it good, and render it effective among those 
whom it is intended to impress. 

A man's own distinction and successes are losing 
their force amid the classified and billeted brilliants 
of our upper circles. The homely honor of having 
wrought out a name for one's self, or of having ac- 
cumulated, by successful and public spirited enter- 
prise, a great estate, is beginning to lose ground 
before that spirit of conventionality and foreign im- 
itativeness, which finds its best types in liveries, 
spurious heraldry, or in the habit of display and of 
exclusion. 

Our rising men, of such callings as have hereto- 
fore been reckoned outcast, are beginning to under- 
stand this matter, and are learning that bravado, 
and well-cut coats-of-arms are better worth, than 
any study of refinement, or pretence for cultivation. 
Families of our town will presently be known from 
their crests, and all our brokers make their serving- 
men conspicuous by a vulture stamped upon their 
buttons. The Digg's livery, and the Mugg's coach 
will be the best descriptive types of the respective 
families, and will be as familiarly known as the 
coat-collar of Northumberland, or the hat-band of 



253 THE LORGNETTE. 

the Marquis of Westminster. All this serves as 
the mark of a distinction, which might otherwise 
escape notice, and secures to the offspring, a com- 
fortable ancestral basis, without any fees at the 
herald's office. 

But we are not yet so far gone in European no- 
tions, nor so blinded by these miserable excuses 
and cravings for title, but that their flimsiness is 
sometimes seen through distinctly enough, to ex- 
pose the wretched poverty of what is behind. Im- 
agine an honest and respectable grocer, tailor, shop- 
keeper, or whomever you please, not showing any 
pride in that industry which has wrought out for 
him an independence, nor making his tastes and 
expenditures keep cheerful and honored company, 
but like a scurvy coward that he is, turning his 
back on the trade that has enriched him, and try- 
ing to hide its remembrance by new- vamped crests, 
and the blazonry of a coach panel ! "What sort of 
manly republican independence is this ? Let him 
trick himself as he will, the peacocks, whose plumes 
he has stolen, will have their peck at him, and 
the sable jackdaws, to whose tribe he belongs, will 
utterly despise him ! 

Observe, Fritz, that I am throwing out no sneers 
upon any particular calling or trade. It would ill 
become me, a pamphleteer, without name (and as 



FAMILY HERALDRY 259 

my honored friend. Mrs. K , alledges, ' not in 

society ,# ), to be so bold. "Why should we, indeed, 
in any manner decry, or make light of those envied 
possibilities which our blessed Republic guaranties, 
and which will make the coal-boy of to-day, the 
judge, or the millionaire of to-morrow ? There is no 
trade, and no profession, which is not respectable 
for an American, except the trade of pretence, and 
the trade of dishonesty. 

And it is this very pretence, my dear Fritz, that 
I want most to rebuke ; it is the covering up of the 
individual, and his personal acts or acquisitions, with 
the patched and parti- colored coat of an adopted 
European artificiality ; it is the shame for what we 
are, and the pretension to what we are not. That 
American must be weak indeed, who wishes to 
prop up his republican manhood on the rotten stilts 
of an extinct feudalism ! I will not envy him if 
he stands, nor pity him if he falls. 

My up-stairs neighbor, the gray-haired lodger, 
with whom I have had frequent conversations on 
this, as well as kindred topics, considers himself, 
by virtue of a name bearing the Dutch prefix of 
Van, one of the ' old families ;' and though he is as 

* In this matter, I am content to throw myself with pride upon my 
own incognito, and to stake the battered head of the Lorgnette at the 
top of my sheet, against all the escutcheons, tinctures, and charges of 
an hermaphrodite heraldry. 



260 THE LORGNETTE. 

poor as a Christian need be, he yet looks with inef- 
fable disdain upon what he calls the pretenders of 
the day. His name, and a snuff-box, are all that 
have come down to him from a glorious ancestry. 
He cherishes both with equal pride and tenderness, 
and never taps at his box without thanking Heaven 
that he was born a Van. 

He of course reckons the broad-skirted Dutch- 
men as the elder members of our aristocracy, and 
is disposed to look with strong sentiments of dis- 
trust upon any which does not smack of the old 
Dutch flavor. He affects great indifference at 
sight of the equipages and houses of our up-town 
great, and talks complacently of the time when our 
neighborhood was the centre of wealth and respect- 
ability. Indeed, he humors his fancy with the idea 
that a large proportion of it still remains, though I 
must confess that we have but a scurvy set of 
neighbors. I am strongly inclined to think that 
the old gentleman, with all his pride, would be 
tempted to give up his broad skirts, and the Van 
to his name, if he could only secure a good slice 
each day from the comfortable dinners that our 
parvenus are consuming ; for the love of the luxu- 
ry that wealth brings, is, I find, a most prevalent 
affection, as well of old families, as of new ones ; 
and nothing will so reconcile most men to lack of 



FAMILY NAMES. 261 

ancestral badges, and a sounding name, as a plen 
tiful provision of all the comforts of life, and a free 
license to indulge. 

Among the pleasant little artifices which are 
adopted by those emulous of ancestral honors, is 
that of changing the name, by transposition of a 
letter or two, into something having strong affin- 
ities with the great names of history : this practice, 
if followed up with philologic attention, will result 
before many generations, in an entire transformation, 
and in the open possession of an ancestral root and 
tree, that will most amply repay the pains-taking. 
A change of pronunciation, if insisted on, will not 
unfrequently do wonders, in giving an air to a man's 
title ; and if sufficiently romantic, or illustrious, it 
may serve to christen a country-seat, or a town res- 
idence — much to the undisguised admiration of the 
suburban classes. 

Wealth of itself, is not understood to create any 
immediate ancestral claims ; time enough must 
elapse for the life and death of an hypothecated 
ancestry ; which time has been shortened down in 
some instances to the very brief period of three or 
four winters. A short period, it is true, as the 
world goes generally ; but we ' manage those 
things better in our town. 5 

I do not mean to say, Fritz, that wealth supposes 



262 THE LORGNETTE 

no ancestry at all, which to be sure, would leave 
a frightful hiatus for modesty to tumble in ; but it 
is such as is not suited to the boasts of the heir ; 
and might possibly be as irksome to his pride as 
that hinted at in the French couplet : 

" Comment s'appelait ton pere 1 
C'est le secret de ma mere." 

What particular action, or claims upon distinc 
tion, are of the best complexion to make up a good 
compact, ancestral reputation, I can hardly tell. 
Services rendered the state would of course weigh 
considerably ; but if I might be permitted to judge 
from existing examples, I should say that the ac- 
complishment of nothing, either for the state or the 
town, was nearly as good. Be as it may, however, 
distinguished families are multiplying like witch- 
craft. New families are dying out, and old ones 
are sprouting all over the town. They will pres- 
ently become as plentiful as they are in Virginia. 

You have heard, Fritz, Southey's bad story of 
the New Grate Calendar — how it was bought up 
by American Colonists, looking up their genealo- 
gies. If the Messrs. Harper would undertake a re- 
print, and the Tribune and Courier give their fa- 
vorable notices, we have no doubt but it would 
prove a profitable venture. 

I have often wondered, my dear Fritz, what a 



THE ANCESTORS IN TOWN. 263 

curious figure the ancestors of our ladies and gen- 
tlemen of ton would cut, if suffered to come up to 
the light, and mingle for a little time in the festivi- 
ties of the town. Not that they would be cordially 
welcomed by all their distinguished issue, for we 
fancy that many a poor knight of the needle, or 
awl, would be shuffled off very unceremoniously 
and very unfilially, into the basement rooms. 

In one quarter we should see a broad-skirted old 
Dutchman, in cocked hat, and with cane mounted 
with buck-horn, wheezing and puffing down some 
dim business alley in search of his great-grandson, 
or perhaps coming upon him in his dancing prac- 
tice, and uttering an indignant 'Dunder and 
Blixem,' at the unscrupulous familiarity of the 
Saracco women. In another direction we might 
find some great expounder of colonial jurisprudence, 
searching out his descendants among the newly rich, 
emulous of rivaling the show of their neighbors, 
and not at all, of sustaining the intellectual dignity 
of the name. A humble, dapper little fellow, of 
a century back, familiar in his day with shears or 
yard-stick, and who had left a company of dapper 
girls comfortably at the counter, would burst upon 
his great-grandchildren amid all the brilliancy of 
the Opera, and watch with wondering eyes at their 
well-modulated applause of such music as he surely 
27 



264 THE LORGNETTE. 

never heard before death, — and it would be unchar- 
itable to suppose he had heard such since. 

Some rusty old coachman might resume his place 
upon the box of a carriage, in which the pink of 
our fashion, his posterity, are rustling in silks ; and 
many a grandpapa would, if invited filially to the 
home of his descendants, whet an appetite with 
French ragouts, that in the old reign of the flesh 
had sated itself on cheese and Dutch herring. 

But quite the worst of it all would be, that the poor 
ancestry would be wished heartily back to the hottest 
of places, rather than have their insignificance, and 
real presence, mar the lustre of our £ old families.' 
There would be such bitter tears shed over their 
reappearance, as never watered their funeral or 
tombs ; and the unoffending little cobblers would 
be hurried off to their leather and lapstone, as per- 
emptorily as when old Peter Stuyvesant caught 
them at their political meddling. 

Yet this revival, Fritz, of the true state and pomp 
of our ancestry would be a most republican dis- 
play: — great because of its diversity, and of the 
proof it would offer of that social elasticity, which 
belongs to our scheme, and which will ensure to 
industry and integrity, whatever may be its station, 
wealth and honor. Alas, for human nature, that 
it should blush for its necessities, and that such ef- 



THE IMPROVEMENT. 265 

fort should be made to hide an origin, which is 
perhaps the only basis of its honor ! 

And in this connection, my dear Fritz, I can- 
not forbear turning my glass toward that painful 
tragedy whose blood and mystery have not yet 
passed from the minds of men. I allude to a re- 
cent murder, which may be traced back, step by 
step, to the impulses of a social pride ; a desire to 
blend, and be even with that assumed and admit- 
ted aristocracy, which, though it might have been 
based on refinement, needed, in the judgment of 
the unfortunate culprit, the trappings of wealth for 
its sustenance. 

If social education and popular habit had not 
grafted upon him the inevitable necessity of doing 
something more than regular performance of duty, 
and basing his position upon something more showy 
than gentlemanly address, the motive would have 
been wanting to those first oversteppings of the 
means of living, to that obliquity which induced 
unfairness of commercial dealing, and to the final 
issue of the dreadful tragedy. Dr. Webster (if 
guilty) is as much the victim of our social heresies, 
as he is of a brutal passion. If men had been re- 
spected more entirely for what they are, and not for 
what their habitations or their dinners are, Dr. 
Webster might still have been the respectable lee- 



266 THE LORGNETTE. 

turer, the successful subduer of his own passions, 
and the esteemed father. But the obeisance paid 
to wealth and to genteel living, was strong enough 
and general enough to bear him down in its tide ; 
and in the fear of being submerged, he must needs 
thrust another under — to the grave. 

It is idle to say that he would have been as much 
respected, if his living had been modest and com- 
mensurate with his means ; probably he might have 
been ; but the popularity and commonness of an 
opposing opinion, making its manifestations most 
strong and patent, seduqed him from such belief— 
to his fall. 

Not one bankruptcy in five but owes its origin 
to the same social causes ; and the ' getting into 
society' with curtains and coaches, is a fallacy 
that is ' getting ' a great many very fast out of the 
bounds of honesty and independence. 

Nor will I forbear, Fritz, to enter my testimony 
with pride, to the dignity of that Court which has 
not been shaken by prominence of social position, 
and which has weighed talent and scientific attain- 
ment as nothing, when opposed to those great in- 
terests of humanity and common justice which our 
Republican rule professes to protect. 

TlMON. 




APRIL 24, 



NEW-YORK, 



NO, 12. 



Quid scribam, vobis, Lectores, aut quomodo scribam, aut quid omninb 
non scribam; Dii me Deaoque (homines feminceque) pejus perdant quam 
perire quotidie sentio. — Tacit, (ad Timonis fidem emendatus.) 

The sick Tiberius was never at more loss to know 
in what humor he should address the Roman Senate, 
than I to discover what topic will best suit my 
town-readers. Not a few have suggested that I 
give further sketches of the Opera, with dainty- 
episodes upon the extravagances of dress, and in- 
uendoes which would touch here and there along 
the range of boxes. I have been advised that such 
and such persons, by virtue of some moral obli- 
quity, were fair game, and that the scandal of the 
exhibition, if ornamented with the quiet simplicity 
28 



268 THE LORGNETTE. 

of my narrative, would add hugely to the name and 
repute of my work. One is represented as having 
forgotten the duties of a wife, and even the moral 
dignity of a mother. Another, it is said, has by 
common assent, perverted all her womanly delicacy; 
and by a series of eccentricities, which as John 
Tyler would say, are l conterminous ' with im- 
morality, has rendered herself the fair, and deserv- 
ing target of all a penman's arrows. But if kind 
advisers would allow me, Vice is not always to be 
determined by its most palpable exhibition : and 
John Timon, in the course of his life, has seen 
enough to show that Virtue may sometimes lie 
hidden under the idiosyncrasies of native wanton, 
and that all the sanctiomonious airs of a vestry- 
man, or a deacon, may cover the lusts that spring 
from the devil. 

Another most goodly patron has suggested to 
my publisher, that the church quarrels, which, un- 
fortunately, are not rare, would offer capital topic 
for what they were pleased to call, the flowing 
periods of Timon. And very many who have little 
to boast of, except a hankering after scandal, have 
urged upon me the adoption of something more of 
personality and directness of issue ; and have 
covered up their cravings under the softly charge, 
that my papers were ' too gentlemanly.' 



SCANDAL AND PROPRIETY. 26J 

Is it not sadning, my dear Fritz, to believe that 
the i own-taste is so set on edge with the vinegar of 
such as push their writings to the furthest edge of 
delicacy, that no modest and subdued discourse 
upon the social habits of the day, can be received 
with any relish whatever? "Where, in the name 
of Heaven, are we running, when modesty must 
hide its face, and when the gross scandal of a 
divorce trial, or the brutal developments of our city 
police, make up the entertainment of those who 
read, and of those who guide our taste ? Answer 
me, Fritz, — is popularity worth enough that a man 
should fling behind him social proprieties, and frat- 
ernize with the lew T d panders to our growing appe- 
tite for scandal and immodesty ? 

Must I, to make my letters ' taking,' abandon 
the better impulses which belong to me as a plain 
country gentleman, — duck to the habit of the town, 
and offend against those proprieties, by which alone 
I know how to set valuation on society ? 

I know, Fritz, that I lose much by forbearance ; 
when the personalities of scurrilous paragraphists 
are read with unction, how can a simple talker 
about popular extravagances be listened to with 
any degree of attention ? They who have surfeited 
their appetites on leeks and onions, will surely turn 



270 THE LORGNETTE. 

up their noses at the mustard and oil of even a 
well-dressed salad. 

Indeed, were I to attempt to give to my papers 
what my good critics would call the spice of per- 
sonal invective, it would require far more art than 
I am possessed of, to steer adroitly between the host 
of conflicting social jealousies, and to be sure of 
winning kind consideration of one party, by hearty 
abuse of another. Madame Dolittle might be in- 
tensely gratified if I were to give the public a 
tricksy portraiture of her rival, but most kind 
friend, the Dowager Nettleton ; and the interesting 
Miss Squibbs would very likely laugh incontinently 
at any sketch of what she reckons the improprieties, 
or the genteel pretensions of her pretty neighbors. 
Those whose moderate intelligence serves as a sort 
of bar to any literary reunions, would thank me 
kindly for painting some rubicund young lady de- 
claiming before a select circle, her own sonnets, or 
a page of Mr. Tupper ; and Miss Homely would be 
delighted at my exhibition of some scandalous ex- 
pose of her pretty friend, in a private tableau. 
People who make up their virtue out of a plain 
carriage, and their religion out of two sermons a 
week, would bid me, perhaps, Grod-speed, in repro- 
ducing the heraldry of their coach-driving friends ; 



PERSONALITY ABJURED. 271 

and in puncturing the windy morality which is 
blown up by pretty-mouthed preachers, and guard- 
ed by imposing ceremonial. 

The small critics who give proof of head and 
tongue by overmuch snarling, and who draw pub- 
lic attention by their yelps at the heels of the great, 
would very likely give me an encouraging snuffle, 
if I were to join them in their canine pursuits ; and 
all the women of pliable virtue would honor me 
with abundance of smiles, if I were to attempt de- 
traction of the pure and high-minded. 

But while thinking to gain ground, I might be 
inadvertently a great loser ; and scratch deep, 
where I only thought to curry favor. Prudence, 
as well as propriety, forbids then, my dear Fritz, 
that I should enter upon any invidious, personal 
strictures ; those who love such topic are referred 
to the sources which are kindred with their tastes ; 
they will find none of it here ; my mask shall not 
be abused for any stealthy strokes ; and whoever 
worries his vanity with the thought of personal 
injury, shall, upon due authentication of his griefs, 
find a man to answer him. 

But in virtue of those kind friends who are so 

tenderly solicitous that a little more of the caustic 

should be applied, and who are plainly of opinion 

that personal sketches would derogate in no degree 

28* 



272 THE LORGNETTE. 

from the character for propriety, which my paper 
sustains, I have determined to note down their 
names ; and whenever, in the aggregate, they shall 
present such a pretty range of characteristics as to 
tempt my pen, they shall be honored with particular 
attention : and thus, modestly, and without inten- 
tion, they will become the heroes and heroines of 
their own suggestion. A half dozen such are 
already on my list, but thus far I am compelled to 
say, that their vanities are so small, and their 
vices of so common-place a character, that they 
will not avail to point a period, even with the most 
dexterous of handling. But let them not live 
without hope ; common-places are sometimes re- 
markable by aggregation, and even niaiserie has its 
heroes. 



AUTHORS AND AUTHOKLING-S. 

c He who would shun criticism, must not be a scribbler ; and he who 
would court it, must have great abilities, or great folly.' — Monro. 

' Good authors damned have their revenge in this, 
— To see what wretches gain the praise they miss.' — Young. 

I have said, Fritz, that modesty would belong 
to my remarks on literary men, or matters ; but 
what reviewer, from Mr. Brownson to Dr. Grris- 
vvold, was ever modest ? It is a quality that does 



AUTHORS AND AUTHORLINGS. 27S 

not belong to the craft ; and the moment that my pen 
touches paper, to give you some of the character- 
istics of our literary men, all my efforts to sustain 
a proper degree of humility vanish most strangely 
But if all sense of modesty is lost, I shall be at 
least kept in countenance by the herd of town 
critics, not one of whom but thinks himself as 
capable of analyzing the most abstruse theory 
in metaphysics, as of dividing into stops the full 
chorus of the Opera. 

Should I so far forget myself, as to speak of the 
works of town- writers with an air of levity, and a 
tone of judgment which would seem to bespeak a 
higher power, and a finer eye in the critic, than in 
the author, let the audacity be credited where it 
properly belongs — to a slight infection with the 
critical rabies, and not to the impertinence of a 
humble country gentleman. It is possible that a 
little lurking desire to gratify my vanity impels 
me ; for there is scarcely a better way that a vain 
man can take, to raise himself to a fair literary 
level, than by so lowering the platform on which 
stand the literary tribe, as to make his humble 
position less apparent. Nor is this pulling down 
of the platform, effected as I find, so much by open 
abuse, as by a wonderfully nice critical analysis, 
a few kind words, a happy familiarity of expres- 



274 THE LORGNETTE. 

sion, and such other means as may go to show 
the critic fully capable of judging, and even rich 
enough to fling out a few tid-bits of praise. 

Indeed, had I ambition for authorship, further 
than editing these occasional papers, I do not know 
how I could so well make a respectable name as by 
respectable abuse and praise of the living town- 
authors ; this would gain one credit with the pub- 
lishing craft, and would ensure abundance of appli- 
cations to edit the works of dead writers, and tc 
write prefaces to the works of the new-born. More- 
over, I should be very sure of purchase at the hands 
of the authors themselves, (and this would make 
no inconsiderable sale,) who are as crazily anxious 
to know what is said of them, as a woman of doubt- 
ful position. I could count safely, too, on the praises 
of all the authors I had seemed to commend, and 
on the hearty abuse of the rest. Better aids than 
these to a ' town run' could hardly be desired. 

Our book-reading world has, I find, its periodic 
fevers of literary fancy, a sort of author cholera- 
morbus, which leaves the public mind in a very 
debilitated condition ; nor does it operate much 
more favorably upon the writer ; since it reduces 
him in most instances to a state of sad depletion, 
if not of decided collapse. 

As illustrative of this, you will remember, I 



CHOLERA MORBUS BOOKS. 275 

think, Fritz, a furor which some years ago attended 
the publication of a book called f The Grlory and 
the Shame of England,' but which so completely 
exhausted itself by excess of effusion, that a biog- 
raphy of Sam. Houston, and the rich elaboration of 
a most extraordinary ' Ivory Cross,' could not 
wholly revive it. The i Gallery of distinguished 
Americans,' with fairly done lithographs, in lieu of 
engravings, will make a better hit, it is to be hoped, 
than the discharge upon the Texan President ; — 
as much more effective, in short, as a revolver than 
a single barrel. Our distinguished men will surely 
not be so ungrateful as to withhold some reasonable 
' reward of merit.' 

Again, not long since, about the period of the 
publication of 'Napoleon and his Marshals,' the 
public was sadly affected with a kind of battle and 
thunder delirium, which did not abate until after 
very much blood-letting, and a quieting dose of the 
Sacred and profane (Adirondack) Mountains. Those 
who were most sadly under the influence of the 
delirium, have endeavored to give the best possible 
evidence of recovery, by heaping inordinate, and 
most undeserved abuse upon the unfortunate au- 
thor, who so little time ago, bewitched them with 
the force and vigor of his language. The name of 
this author has been occasionally associated by 



276 THE LORGNETTE. 

some over-shrewd ones with the Lorgnette. It is 
surely not a little droll that suspicion of any mar- 
tial propensities should attach to the rustic plainness 
of Timon ; let the wiseacres pick me out, if they 
can, a musket, a general, or a Sinai, in the whole 
range of my papers. 

The Tupper fever has become almost chronic, 
but it is not now in so active a state of eruption 
as a year or two since ; its outbreak was attributed 
to an inoculation by Mr. "Willis, through the me- 
dium of a little vaccine matter supplied by the 
Home Journal. It is now understood to be confined 
chiefly to school-girls, and literary young women. 
It was a remarkable symptom of this disorder that 
those afflicted with it were accustomed, in their 
moments of delirium, to confound Martin Farquhar 
Tupper with Solomon, an ancient king of the Jews ; 
the proverbial philosophy was bound up by church 
bookbinders, and even now may be seen on the 
tables of some afflicted sufferers, lying between the 
Prayer Book, and the Psalms of David. 

There was at one time serious danger of a Festus 
outbreak ; but either from the length of Mr. Bailey's 
poem, or some other cause which has not come to 
light, the danger has gone by ; and the naive advice 
of Satan, and his piquant colloquies with Mr. Fes- 
tus Bailey, are confined to scattered private rehear- 



JANE EYRE AND TYPEE. 2/7 

sals. The truth is, Satanic colloquies are so fre- 
quent now-a-days that no one can make a joke of 
their novelty ; and though comparatively few bar- 
risters cg.n talk to the devil as well as the barrister 
Bailey, yet they make up amply by familiarity, 
what they lack in elegance. 

The Jane Eyre malady amounted to an epidemic, 
and has sustained its ground, notwithstanding all 
the efforts of the doctors, to this time. The authoress 
is rapidly accumulating a stock of enthusiasm on 
this side of the water, which, if it do not previously 
explode, will by and by secure her a suite of rooms 
at the Irving, a confectioner's image of the maniac 
wife, and a classic ode from the Brigadier Morris, 
about the Cyclop Fairfield, and the adorable Bronte ! 

The Typee disorder was a novel one, of uncer- 
tain character, until clearly defined and made cog- 
nizable by a London issue of the book of Mr. Melville. 
It attacked with peculiar virulence adventurous 
school-boys, and romantic young ladies who have 
an eye for nature. At one time, shortly after the 
publication of Mardi, the disorder assumed a threat- 
ening malignancy, and patients were given over in 
despair to the chrono -thermal and homoeopathic 
treatment. Latterly, however, the types have 
changed, and Peregrine Pickle and Robinson Cru- 
soe, are safe cures for Redburn and White Jacket. 



2/8 THE LORGNETTE, 

A highly contagious literary disease broke out 
not long since upon the appearance of a book called 
the ' Lady Alice.' It was supposed at first, from 
the highly conscientious and Evangelical views 
entertained by its publishers, to be of a religious 
order, and not calculated to heat much blood out 
of the pale of the true Church. It was found, how- 
ever, to produce almost a frenzy, which rapidly 
overleaped all ecclesiastical barriers, and crept into 
every denomination of readers and thinkers. The 
worthy publishers undoubtedly felt some twinges 
of conscience at their evangelical error, and made 
such atonement as was in their power, by the issue 
of a cheap edition. 

A check which was for a time imposed upon it 
by the superveyors of the Church, was found only 
to 'scatter' the disorder, and produce a general 
eruption upon the literary surface of society. The 
exquisite moral teachings of the book were enforced 
by most happy example ; and its religious character 
was at once picturesque and artistic. It offered 
pretty inside views of the highly advanced state of 
European society, and of the artless blending of 
nature, morals, and religious aesthetics. It offered 
tempting footing for a new step in our social pro- 
gress ; and while it will multiply worthily the 
number of crosses, oratories, and confessional boxes, 



AN AFRICAN FEVER, 279 

it will undoubtedly refine, in a corresponding degree^ 
the foolish rigidity of an old-fashioned, Bible mo- 
rality. 

Los Gringos, careless, slipshod, uneasy, yet with 
a swift, invigorating canter, was rather in the 
nature of a St. Vitus' dance, and could scarcely be 
considered anything more than a cutaneous affec- 
tion. Under the warm treatment, and pleasantly 
sweetened, mucilaginous drinks of the Home Jour- 
nal and De Trobriand's Revue, it will probably have 
no very serious effects. 

A kind of African fever, accompanied with great 
debility, broke out on the appearance of Kaloolah ; 
its types were not unlike the Typee affection, and 
will probably yield to the same treatment. The 
author has been credited, I understand, in some 
quarters, (much to my honor) with the editing of 
the Lorgnette ; but I would advise him, as he 
values the integrity of those peculiar manifestations 
which have followed upon his practice, and more 
than all, as he cherishes his brilliant reputation for 
chivalrous adventure with the colored woman of 
Africa, to repel indignantly the charge. 

St. Leger was spasmodic, but not so serious in 
its manifestations, as might have been expected by 
the reiterated warnings held out by the ' Knicker- 
bocker' quarantine. As a book, St. Leger is 
29 



280 THE LORGNETTE, 

remarkable for short sentences, short chapters, 
G-erman names, and Greek extracts. Though it 
has not created a run of fever, it has peculiarities 
of type, and an individualism of character, which 
will be well worth a report in the next annual 
account of our Dunglison of literature — Dr. Grris- 
wold. 

There are beside, a multitude of authors, whose 
works, so far from breeding any sudden epidemic, 
are most sedative in their operations ; such writers 
are nice to an exception, and are respectable almost 
to a virtue. Their influence may be likened (to 
carry out our medical typography) to a mild 
influenza, characterized by frequent sneezings, to 
which old ladies are peculiarly subject, and easily 
curable by a little hot catmint, or a blue stocking 
applied to the neck. 

Among these authors, Mr. T n may be said 

to hold a place of proud eminence. Others would 
fairly escape notice, and the symptoms which fol- 
low upon their attack, would scarce be cognizable, 
without the acute discernment of that highly re- 
spectable literary practitioner, Dr. Grriswold. He 
can be cordially commended to the humbler mem- 
bers of the literary profession, as a safe observer, 
and one whose faculty of auscultation is most 
minute. Would you believe it, my dear Fritz, that 



THE WILLIS AFFECTION. 281 

such laurels have been pinned to my ears, as the 
association of my papers with this Coryphaeus of 
letters ! I blush to find myself in the enviable 
light ; and to have become by the mere accident of 
suspicion, the cynosure of admiring eyes ! 

The Willis affection is decidedly organic ; and 
the varieties in its manifestation, have been as 
inconsiderable, as the changes in the types of the 
infecting matter. Thus we have had Pencillings, 
Inklings, Dashes, Glimpses, Ruralities, and People I 
have Met, all pleasantly running together ; and 
any given quantity of which needs only the spice 
of a prefatory chapter, and a variation upon his 
most pliant name, to have the periodic run of a 
fashionable fever. It is surely no little commenda- 
tion of an author, when by mere change of plate, 
or dressing, the public will devour his old dishes 
with as much gout, as the freshest meats of the 
new writers. How his matter will be served up 
next, and whether under imprimatur of N. P. W., 
or N. P. Willis, or N. Parker Willis, it would be 
quite unsafe to predict. Indeed, Mr. W.'s supple 
art of words renders it impossible to hazard any guess 
whatever ; and I should not be greatly surprised if 
he were to change the name altogether, without at 
all destroying its integral character. 

Mr. Willis has certainly amused and instructed, 



282 THE LOEGNETTE. 

in his way, a greater number of men, women, and 
children, within the last ten years, than almost 
any man on this side of the Atlantic ; and his name 
is as familiar (I speak of the family name, and not 
the titular one) in cigar-shops and journalism, as it 
is in libraries, and the boudoir. How many of his 
readers he has improved in moral habit, — to how 
many he has given the pabulum for stirring and 
healthful thought, bracing up their nerves for hard 
work, and quickening them into honest endeavor, 
it would be very immodest in me to answer. How 
much he might have done, none can tell better 
than himself. Utility is surely not the prevailing 
characteristic of his writings ; and he will hardly 
hope to be enrolled among the reformers of the 
age, whatever may become of his friends, Horace 
Greeley, Cornelius Matthews, or Dr. G-riswold. 

He is among the keenest of observers ; and yet 
he might voyage through California, seeing nothing 
more than lack of ladies, and shabby toilettes ; or 
he might make the north-west passage, and note 
only the icebergs and the northern lights. Yet not 
a better man could be found to bring away those 
minute observations of old countries which would 
go to show their social complexion, and the condi- 
tion and habit of their civilization. After all, 
whatever particular qualities may be wanting; 



A WAVY STYLE. 283 

critical analysis cannot impair the individuality of 
his talent ; and genius will be sure to leave a light 
in its wake, whichever way it may steer. 

You will smile, Fritz, at the compliment, yet 
some wise ones have attributed our correspondence 
to this prince of paragraphists. Now, with due 
courtesy and modesty be it said, I cannot believe 
that the piquant leaders of the Home Journal, and 
the spice islands of his reading, would leave him 
margin enough, either of time or industry, to throw 
together the score of pages which light up each 
week your solitude. Nor can I find any trace of 
those prettily perplexed interchangements of phrase 
which are the charm of Home Journalists, — nor 
any of those light running similes which slide 
through his periods, like a sunbeam through a leafy 
thicket. 

I am not conscious (and the public will acquit 
me) of any of those waving sinuosities of expres- 
sion which belong to his language ; and on which 
you are borne along — now up, now down, — like a 
boat floating over the swells of ocean. Here are 
none of those easy convolutions of words, which 
make the column of his type w4nd amid his sub- 
ject-matter, like a Kaloolah serpent gliding through 
tropic foliage. 

Mr. McCracken is a gentleman, who, though 
29* 



284 THE LORGNETTE. 

not widely known to type, is by no means without 
his town admirers. A little disposition that 
belongs to him, to play Timon — not in the wood, 
but in the palace, — has called up his name in con- 
nection with my papers ; and I am led to infer 
from all that can be learned, that the allegation 
should be accepted as a compliment. It costs very 
little to give compliments in the dark, as every plain 
woman knows ; and while making due acknowledg- 
ments for the honor done me, I would at the same 
time caution those who are quite positive that the 

authorship lies in that quarter, (Judge B 

among the rest) against multiplying immoderately 
their wagers. 

Mr. Carl Benson (Bristed) has come in for a share 
of the Lorgnette honor ; for which it is understood 
that his high classical attainments would amply 
qualify him and, indeed, entirely ensure the paper 
against any unfortunate errors of citation. You 
know, Fritz, that 1 make no scholarly pretensions, 
and that the trick of the pen is not old enough with 
me, to render my lapsus pennce either unusual, or 

singular. Pray, Mr. B , is it Seneca, who 

says, — 

Nil sapientiaa odiosius acumine niinio *? 

With all gratitude to those who have attributed 



A BRACE OF AUTHORS. 285 

my observations to the erudite, and irate antagonist 
of a distinguished professor, it is yet a source of 
regret, that even stray citations from classic au- 
thors, should have turned the current of suspicion 
toward a scholar, and so induced the belief with 
any, that these letters smack more of the closet 
than of the world. The public may return Mr. 
Benson to his special patronage of Catullus, and 
4 fast trotters,' and acquit him thoroughly of any 
inaccuracies which have crept into the letters of 
Timon. 

Mr. R. Gr. "White is a musical critic of the town, 
a gentleman, as I am informed, of fair taste, and 
considerable observation. Though not enrolled in 
the Grriswold galaxy of authors, he will yet come 
under head of ' authorling,' and has been honored 
with a clay statuette. Though not over familiar 
with his works, yet I am content to take the verdict 
of the town-public in reckoning him a writer of 
shrewdness, tact, and elegance — the more espe- 
cially, Fritz, since he is your reputed correspond- 
ent. 

It would appear that he is an adept with an 
opera-glass, and should know much of the goings 
on in our brilliant town- world ; at least so much of 
it as appears within the doors of the Opera-house. 
But he is, after all, I fancy, much too fond of his 



286 THE LORGNETTE. 

fiddle, and the composers, to have entered upon any 
such employment, as has been gratuitously assign- 
ed him. 

Mr. Ik. Marvell (Mitchell) has also come in for 
a share of the suspicion ; and although, perhaps, I 
ought to feel flattered by the association of my 
work with the name of either author or authorlin^, 
yet it does really seem that my unpretending, and 
straightforward sentences show very little to evi- 
dence the same paternity with the contortions and 
abruptnesses of the ' Battle Summer.' To say the 
least of it, my errors against grammar have not been 
willful ; and my arrangement of style has not looked 
toward the quackery of dramatic effect. 

Yet withal the compliment is acknowledged, 
since the same gentleman has written a most 
creditable book of travels, which of an idle hour, 
will repay a second reading. Mr. Marvell is cer- 
tainly a promising young man, and with thus much 
of compliment, to sustain him for the loss, I relieve 
him entirely of the new and unnecessarily imposed 
burden of authorship. 

Mr. Harry Franco (Briggs), a name not, perhaps, 
new to you, Fritz, has also been associated with 
our modest correspondence. He is said to possess 
a ready wit, and variety of attainment which would 
qualify him to do much better things than have 



DISTINGUISHED AUTHORS. 287 

appeared in the Lorgnette. A little reflection of 
his honor was at one time, indeed, cast upon me 
by the Mirror newspaper : but latterly the penetra- 
ting editor of that journal finds my letters losing 
their ' Tom Peppery' character, and growing sadly 
stupid. Let the kind gentlemen bear with me ; 
all philosophers cannot be Franklins : all restaura • 
teurs cannot be Downings : and all authors cannot 
be Briggses. 

Mr. Cornelius Matthews is another extraordinary 
member of the literary society of the town, upon 
whom has casually rested (I have it on his own 
authority) a share of those capricious suspicions, 
which Mr. Kernot's little weekly has created ; — and 
this, notwithstanding his recent ' money-penny ' 
labors. But on the other hand, it is objected, that 
no announcement of such implied authorship, or 
flattering paragraph, has appeared among the edi- 
torials of the Literary World. If John Timon had 
been Matthews, there would have been surely some 
trace of the heroic little Abel, if not allusion to the 
gallant Puffer Hopkins. A stouter Philippic, too, 
than I can by any possibility fish out of the ink- 
stand, would have startled my readers into an 
international copyright frenzy, and possibly — an 
Original Literature. 

Mr. Paulding is understood to be still in working 



288 THE LORGNETTE. 

order ; as his recent romance, and pungent political 
letter abundantly prove. Although he is not given 
to long speeches, he can yet guide a thumb and 
forefinger to level his anti-Post letters at the ' woolly- 
headed fanatics ' of whatever complexion : and, 
perhaps, in virtue of this last avowal on his 
part, hints have been bruited, that the hand 
which furbished up the papers of the Salmagundi 
may not have been ignorant of the management of 
these Studies of the town. The hints, however, as 
I understand, have confused other and younger 
members of the author's family in the charge ; — 
on what ground, or with what semblance of truth, 
it would hardly become me, who am ignorant of 
the parties, to judge. I trust though, that if the 
gentlemen alluded to are addicted to pen-work, 
they will do no discredit to the elder of the name ; 
and if they should break ground with no worse laid 
furrow than the pages of the Lorgnette, I hope 
they may reap praise enough to pay them for their 
pains. 

Several young gentlemen just having completed 
their studies, or recently returned from abroad, are 
upon my publisher's list of reported authors. I 
would gladly do them any reasonable favor. But 
upon my conscience, it will cost too dearly to say 
peccavi ovpeccabo, to any of the platulencies of boy- 



LOVERS OF PEA-NUTS. 289 

hood. Errors of manner and thought are become 
ingrained ; these are not the wanton fancies of a 
fresh-read youth, however promising his wit ; and 
though these young gentlemen do not deny the im- 
putation for themselves, I must, in self-defence, 
abjure the charge, and settle into the repose of 
that maturity, which years only can give. 

There are still others, the list now running to 
thirty, who in their peculiar circles, are the un- 
doubted Timons. Of some of these, whose names 
are at command, I can find no trace either in the 
literary or moral world ; and if so be they have 
ever used a pen, I suspect they must belong to 
that numerous, and deserving class, who are 
immortalized by contribution of thrilling tales to 
weekly newspapers, and whose readers are devout 
admirers of Prof. Ingraham, and extravagantly fond 
of peanuts. 

I have been not a little amused and chagrined, 
my dear Fritz, on hearing these letters attributed 
to an eminent beau of the town — a man well posted 
indeed, in all social chat, and lively enough as the 
times go ; but for the matter of this new charge, I 
must beg to enter a modest caveat in his behalf. 
John Timon is no professional beau, and whatever 
the short-comings of his mental or moral endow- 
ments, they have had none of that social rasping of 



290 THE LORGNETTE. 

the town, which outs away the native qualities, 
and leaves a be-padded, and be-curled woman of a 
man. The study of mirror and cosmetics has 
never engrossed him to the neglect of dictionaries : 
and whatever else may be said in a hard way, let 
him not be condemned, as one who hangs his social 
ventures upon the heel of his pump, and who tunes 
his talk to the play of a moustache. 

Nor is itsupposable that a man, devoting four or 
five hours of the best of the day to the mirror, or 
to the practice of a polka, can have leisure or in- 
dustry for this weekly labor. I have no faith in 
those literateurs who are forever boasting of the 
ease of writing ; — as if a dozen pages for tho 
perusal, and the thought of a thousand, could be 
thrown off in the interval between cigars. I have 
too much respect for the public, and for you, Fritz, 
to palm on your ear any such crude batter of words. 
Time and attention are due even to the humility of 
this toil ; and though it does not smell of the lamp, or 
show such touches of the file as it ought to do, be 
assured that it is honored with the task-work of 
determined handling. I have very little respect for 
those reputations for quick parts, which are main- 
tained by a boasted carelessness and rapidity of 
style : and if an unknown observer might hazard 
the remark, our authors and author lings, the half 



AUTHORS AND AUTHORLINGS. 291 

of them at least, would do well to hammer at their 
metal far more vigorously, and with better directed 
strokes, if they hope to put such temper in it as 
will hold an edge, and cut. 

Even now, Fritz, but half has been said, which 
might be said upon the authors of the town : a host 
remains, even omitting the entire company of our 
deserving and attractive authoresses. An apology, 
perhaps, is due for having alluded more particularly 
to such as have become associated by careless sus- 
picion with our correspondence ; should the corres- 
pondence continue, Fritz, not a pen-man, or a 
claqueur, but shall be honored. 

In alluding to individuals by name, in the present 
paper, I have confined myself strictly to such as 
have rendered the publicity warrantable by their 
writings ; and in alluding to their mental habit 
and disposition, I have scrupulously forborne to 
meddle with the interior social life, where it 
appears to me no gentleman can safely venture 
with his pen. 

Much might be said, however, of the social posi- 
tion of authors ; and the influence of literary culti- 
vation upon the graduation of the fashionable scale 
of the town ; the topic must lie over to some sea- 
son when the game is a little more plump ; and then, 
30 



THE LORGNETTE. 



'please Providence,' I will throw a yellow cartridge 
into the whole flock of poets and poetasters. 



My publisher informs me, as the sheets are pass- 
ing through the press, that the twelve numbers now 
issued will make a fair-sized volume ; you may 
possibly, therefore, my dear Fritz, miss the ensuing 
week 'your accustomed visitant : and whether it 
will make its appearance the coming month, will 
depend very much on my own whim, and the 
humor of the town. But do not be misled, Fritz ; — 
it has been thrown out by some that the Lorgnette 
was nothing more than an eccentric charity ; and 
one very grave and important publisher assured me 
that it was wholly paid for by its author, and then 
placed, printed and bound, in the hands of the 
publisher. The dear public will allow me to 
correct this error, and to assure them that though 
they may laugh at my labor, they are paying for 
the laugh. 

Nor is this said in vanity, but in justification ; for 
nothing seems to me a more absurd charity than 
for a man to publish his thoughts, when the public 
do not care enough for his thought, to pay for the 
printing. Such a man (and on this point my opin- 
ion will be obnoxious to many town-authors) had 



THE CONCLUSION. 293 

much better every way drop his surplus pence into 
the parish poor box : in that case, he may console 
himself with knowing that no one is pestered with 
his thought, and that some poor souls may possibly 
be stuffing their bellies with his money. 

John Timon neither owes any man, nor is he 
any man's creditor. He leaves off, if he leaves off, 
as fairly as he started ; and he will be at liberty to 
begin, whenever his whim directs. 

Not a tithe of the material is yet exhausted ; the 
whole race of belles are still sighing for their por- 
traits ; the salon is without its picture ; even the 
politicians and the churches have been sadly neg- 
lected. A chapter might easily be based upon the 
vigorous researches, the family garrulity, and the 
monthly chocolate of our New York Historical So- 
ciety. The journals, from the heavy counting-room 
leviathan, to the motley, home-spun, patch-quilt 
of the Tribune, are topics full of fatness ; and even 
the editor of the Democratic might find, that 
though modesty and dignity may forbid me to fol- 
low him to his social haunts, that I can unravel 
some of his slave-knotted yarns, and put a finger to 
his moral pulse, that will explain much of his po- 
litical weakness. 

And now a word to those who cannot determine 
1 what the deuce I would be at/ and who are both- 



294 THE LORGNETTE. 

ered by the sharp moral hits, that are scattered 
over my social paintings. They neither see the 
point, or the meaning of such things ; they are 
deserving of sympathy. You will remember our 
quondam Yankee friend, fresh from country cook- 
ery, who could make nothing, in the Parisian 
restaurant, of a. filet au sauce piquante — who would 
have liked the beef indeed tolerably well, if they 
had not spilled the cruet upon it ! 

The Grecians, on a time, used to go to their 
Bacchan festivities with spears muffled in garlands 
— showing the grace of flowers, but always ready 
to prick a foe. Fritz, — the town-life is my Bacchan 
festival ; the town-topics are my Bacchan sport ; 
and this pen is my Bacchan thyrsus ! 

TlMON. 



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